


A Vow in an Empty House

by Howlynn



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms, sher
Genre: 1895, Alternate Canon, BAMF John Watson, BAMF Mary, Big Brother Mycroft, Canon Compliant, Drug Use, Episode: The Abominable Bride, Episode: s03e03 His Last Vow, Extended Scene, Gen, Headcanon, His Last Vow Spoilers, Missing Scene, Mycroft Being a Good Brother, Mycroft IS the British Government, Mycroft's Meddling, Overdosing, Pining Sherlock, Poor John, Protective John, Protective Mycroft, Season/Series 03 Spoilers, Sherlock Being Sherlock, Spoilers for The Abominable Bride, Weird Plot Shit, explaining canon so it works, special episode
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-15
Updated: 2016-01-04
Packaged: 2018-01-15 19:42:43
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 15
Words: 26,644
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1316965
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Howlynn/pseuds/Howlynn
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Not a canon fix so much as extending possible explanations using hints and connecting dots to show that series three offers a lot more thought and perception of character than is spoon fed to the viewer.  Extra possible scenes that would fill in some of the time lurches while pushing the Johnlock right up to the limit.<br/>See, the phone call that got John to go to the empty house, John and Sherlock before Mary arrived in the empty house, what happened after the ambulance left Baker Street, Who told Janine, some John and Mary backstory that makes it seem rational to forgive her, why Sherlock hates Magnussen, why Sherlock killed him and what were Mycroft and Mary chatting about as the boys bollocksed up the goodbye scene.  Canon compliant with series three but expands on a lot of possibilities we did not see.<br/>Chapter 15 - Spoilers for The Abominable Bride - What Sherlock's time in his mind palace may have looked like to John.  Don't read chapter 15 if you have not seen the special.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Just a smile

**_Authors note: This is what I call perspective warping. All canon applies and yet I add things to change your perspective of canon – In other words hand me a hole and I will plot it, jump time in lurches and I will fill them. Now what I have done here pushes the Johnlock right up to it’s limit but much of this is honestly how I see things in the story line that others don’t seem to pick up on. Why would Sherlock take up for Mary? Why did she shoot Sherlock and not Magnussen? We didn’t see who told Janine or how Sherlock did in the hospital the second time. John and Sherlock only shook hands in the end? Here are some possibilities that could make the whole thing plausible if you had seen them too._ **

**_There were two moments of silence during His Last Vow that I have been fascinated with. Some call it a plot lurch or feel that there was something left out and John’s actions didn’t make sense. He’s a Doctor, but he seemed to buy Sherlock’s ‘it was surgery’ line despite the fact that Sherlock did actually die from his wound, twice. There are two moments in which John leans in and challenges his ‘lying wife’ with a particular smile and this is my take on how the missing parts are actually there if you really look. Hope it works, and enjoy._ **

 

 

 

By the time he answered Sherlock’s call, something inside John had begun to die. His chair, the perfume, and Sherlock’s first words in the hospital were swirling in his average brain with increasing speed. His heart screamed that he had to be wrong as the phone made its connections and he refused to believe the ones he was making.

“Where are you?” Sherlock panted before John said hello.

“I got your message. I think,” John replied low and careful.

“Are you alone?”

“I believe that I am. That’s what you are trying to tell me, isn’t it? Sherlock, hmmm?” John pronounced each word carefully to hide that he isn’t sure he is going to survive this night. “Must be important, if you scuttle off from a perfect opportunity to engage in one of your little hobbies with my approval. I am actually surprised you could walk at all. The window? That was a nice touch. Lestrade bought it. Now tell me where the bloody hell you are so I can send an ambulance before you--”

“No time for that. You come alone or I will deal with this myself.” Sherlock interrupted.

“Oh really? Just like that? I get no say in –“ John’s voice is building anger and dangerous.

“You get a say, if you come alone. 24 Leinster Gardens. Hurry, John.”

The phone went dead and John growled in frustration. He picked up the perfume bottle and hurled it at the smiley face over the sofa. It shattered and Clair-de-la-Lune would permeate the flat on hot days for years to come.

They had argued over who would play the dummy. John finally won that one, but had to give Sherlock custody of the gun in return.  

“You are a rubbish shot, Sherlock. I’m in more danger that you will miss them and kill me than I probably am from your mystery assassin!” John grumbled as Billy fidgeted with the lighting.

Sherlock’s phone pinged and he smiled, “That’s good enough, Billy. Our Guest has just RSVP’d.”

Billy nodded quietly, gathering his things and poignantly avoiding John’s questioning looks. As soon as Billy was out the door, John sighed heavily to get Sherlock’s attention.

“Why? All of this? I’m not stupid, Sherlock. Just say it and stop all of this. You are putting your health at risk just to show off.”

“Am I? Who would you believe?” Sherlock’s eyes narrow and his head shakes. “There is only one right answer to that, John. You must see. As for why? That is what we are here to find out.”

John stares at Sherlock anger melting to fear and pain and finally John looks away and nods. “Okay.” He holds back tears and shrugs.

Sherlock stands silently for a moment then softly adds, “If I could spare you, I would. I would do…”

“I know. I know. We will see, okay? Maybe…maybe…”The last one is more pleading than declaration.

“Yes. You cannot theorize before you have all the evidence. The color of our bricks is determined by the content of the clay,“ He says with an encouraging nod then signals for silence as he addresses the person on the other end of the phone.

John’s eyes close as his wife’s voice suddenly booms in his ear-bud demanding in a playfully friendly tone whether or not Sherlock owns this empty house. She enters, in her familiar coat with a stance and an attitude he’s only seen once before. John takes on the body language of a dying man in a wheel chair and he is really not even acting.

A part of him wished she would ‘show him’ what a good shot she was. The threat was there and he was so broken in that moment he would have stayed silent and gone willingly, only regretting that he wouldn’t get to see the look on her face when she realized her error. He wondered if Sherlock would control his anger and wound her or murder her for taking his life. It was a mystery and he didn’t twitch at her firing at the coin. In his mind, she’d made two nearly fatal wounds with her first shot.

It was ironic really. She had saved him, not so long ago.

Her speech about how she would do anything to keep him from finding out didn’t say much for her cause. She was using future tense. If it suited her purpose, she would kill his best friend without regret. She knew where John was when they met. As a matter of fact, she had gone to rather extraordinary lengths to stop him from following his dead friend. The second time she had saved him, he’d fallen in love with her that exact moment.

She knew losing Sherlock had nearly destroyed him. Did she think John could just move on a second time and never put together the truth? Granted, he could not do it as fast as Sherlock, but John wasn’t stupid and one day, something would click and he would know. She would not do anything to prove her love unless she got what she wanted out of the game. She will do anything, including destroy her husband, to keep the truth from him. She would kill for him and that was very sexy in a twisted way, but she would also cause him irreparable harm just to keep him and that wasn’t really something he considered love.

He felt like at that moment if he showed her just a glimpse of who Captain Watson had been, there was every chance that she would put him out of his misery. Mary was very easy going on small things but he’d seen her put her foot down too and seen her wrestle unruly patients to the floor with such efficiency that it had stopped him in his tracks. They play fought, like siblings at times and on more than one occasion he’d wondered if she had let him win.

Mary challenged him and that was part of her appeal. Now his own battle monster peeked at this woman and he stood in that narrow room and dared her to show him what she really could do. He smiled his adrenaline fueled taunt and he saw her eyes blank and cool preparing to strike. Sherlock picked that moment to announce that they were going to Baker Street to sort this out. There wasn’t anything to sort. Two samurai stood on a bridge with the calm pleasure of battle in their blood and each knew striking first is a lost advantage.

She softened and he stood down, taking a deep breath and reminding himself that he was married to her and if Sherlock wanted him to hear her out, then he had to have a reason. Sherlock always had a bloody reason.

The ride in the cab was silent. She sat like a scolded child in the center, shoulders scrunched and staring forwards, careful not to brush either man. A sigh escaped as she exited the Fairway and stood waiting for the fare to be settled by John. She glanced at Sherlock and was surprised to find his eyes gentle and almost empathetic.

She stood by the fireplace debating on if this was a waste of time. John was gone. For some reason the flat seemed to be filled with her perfume, as if this second home would never be big enough to hold her again. It was as if she were a noxious stench upon the lives that belonged here.

John was answering Sherlock, but he was waiting for her to make one tiny mistake.

It hurt so much that she considered killing them both and disappearing into the night. Five years of peace wiped away by a mistake. She should have known better than to care. If she ran now, they would never leave her alone. She could not raise a child on the run but they could take the baby if she stayed. She hated feeling cornered and helpless. John had no idea what she had overcome and if he sent her away, she would be on her own this time. There would be no benevolent government official available to ease her way.

If she had just killed her mark and the witness, John would probably be in jail, but his face would not be looking at her as if he wanted to kill her. She knew a lot about John that he didn’t know she knew. She had seen his soldier face when he was prepared to kill or die and now it was aimed at her.

Sherlock and John were not the most charming of people. The two of them were a lot like her and yet she was standing here to be judged and Mary – sweet, kind, soon to be a mother – would have to survive the consequences of the one she’d tried so hard to leave behind.

How had this gotten away from her like this? She had been planning this since before she met John. Magnussen had spoiled her life and that of more than one of her very dear friends. He had tried to force her out of retirement. She had turned him down and she had no doubt that it was him who arranged for her boyfriend to be burned alive. She could not prove it, but she knew. The telegram was a threat. She wasn’t an orphan. Somewhere there were people she had called family once. Time and distance protected them and she could not take the risk of that door being opened again. But it was no use, John and Sherlock had mostly lived lives in the light and she had clawed her way out of the darkness.  

She berated herself for not finishing the job, for genuinely wanting to give him a chance to live. The order had been no witnesses, and she had feared more than anything that it would be Janine who she would have to call collateral damage. That, she had been prepared for. But she had managed that.  What had she been thinking? She had cost herself everything by a second’s hesitation. She should have shot the man and just left. But instead, she’d taken a moment to play with him. He deserved so much worse than a fast death before he even knew he was wounded. She wanted him to regret, just for a moment and she wanted him to know all the names of individuals he had ignorantly corrupted and caused to be murdered or tortured, all for his amusement.

This never should have happened at all. If she had just kept to herself and lived quietly, she would not have so much to lose.

She had dropped her guard and let John Watson in and now she would have to start over. The kill shot would have been better, but it would have not given her a chance to escape while her beloved Doctor frantically fought a losing battle either. If he’d found a corpse, mild mannered John would have hunted her down or died trying to follow her. She really hadn’t failed, Sherlock Holmes just had a really determined Doctor and a lucky breath had accidently meant life. God Sherlock looked horrible.

John would have been devastated at his best friend’s second death, but it would have been clean and acceptable. Killed doing what he loved was far better than driven to suicide. John was a soldier; he could have understood that kind of tragedy and moved forward.

“Because you chose her.” Sherlock said and his eyes moved to the side, hiding something. She saw he was hoping John could not see his lie and she hoped he knew what he was doing.

John exploded. Mary watched the real married couple in the room and felt like an intruder. She wondered how her New Zealand accent would sound if she had to improvise tonight. She still had the baby. For that alone she would let them rant and have the satisfaction of throwing her out.

He called her a client. Oh that was a deep cut, and so she sat, as she was told to do. She handed them the ammunition to justify anything they wanted to do to her. Big brother would probably be popping round any second to secure John’s interest in her abdomen and she would not be taken. This was her last hurrah. It was out of her hands and just for a second, she let John see her breaking and when his eyes met hers for that spit second, she saw that he wanted to actually believe Sherlock’s preposterous account of the office scene.

They carefully skirted the important question and Sherlock was right about what had attracted John to her.

_________________________________________

_Reviews and Kudos are welcome.  I would love your perspective on things.  This chapter came from the surety that John DID see who Mary was - and he liked it.  The next chapter will fully explain that scene and comment in a way that hopefully makes you see Mary as an interesting person who did deserve John.  I have heard many people say Mary was so cold during the time they had her sit in the chair - I do think she is very manipulative, but I honestly think everyone shows Great sympathy that Sherlock was a spook for 2 years - imagine how a career of it would affect Mary.  I wanted to show her perspective and the random and sometimes hormonal thoughts that her placid face is hiding._


	2. The Doctor

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> We hear both Mary and Sherlock say that John picked her Because she was 'like that' This is my take on the back story of --what if he did?

He’d worked for months by her side. It was only after she’d caught him sneaking the code to the med cart and stopped him before he did anything stupid that he ever really spoke to her. She had assumed that he was stealing them to sell, but it dawned on her that John was not nervous even when she caught him. He’d looked like she’s taken his last hope.

She had quietly guided him into an empty exam room and glared her hardest no-nonsense eyes at him. “Why?”

He deflected, “Oh, I was expecting a deal, a mole you needed me to look at or, you know, a pity snog? Do whatever you feel best, Miss Morstan.”

“Why would I give you a pity snog? You aren’t that repulsive and the receptionist sighs like a school girl every time you walk by. Don’t play the arrogant stupid arse with me. You were going to – You know I have to report this.” She said scrunching her nose in confusion.

John had dropped his head and nodded once, accepting. “Yeah, well, Good luck with that.” He smiled and his eyes watered just for a split second and he was turning around and bumping her out of the way of the door.

She angrily slammed the door too hard and he looked at her, astonished. “You tell me John, and you tell me now. How bad? Are you planning to harm yourself or are you an addict? You don’t look like an addict but I don’t see a reason in the world why you are not chatting up the wide-eyed-awe-struck-hair-flippers like every other single man in this building. You look at women. I have seen you. You are not shy. What am I missing?” ”

He snorted and rubbed his nose and seemed a bit taller all of a sudden, amused at the pretty little nurse playing all tough. “Don’t play stupid. You know who I am. I have bad days. That’s pretty much all I have. Makes chasing skirts and finding out later that that great shag cost me something private and they twisted some minor comment to sell a paper? It makes the whole idea a bit not good. I hoped for a while, sure I did, but I learned the hard way, didn’t I? ”

She looked skeptical and slightly annoyed with him. “Seriously, do delusions of grandeur fill in anything the paranoia and chronic depression miss?”

“Oh, you are trying for wit now? Nice shot, but you don’t understand anything about me. You may think you do, but my photo and my name is the only thing anyone has gotten right about me for a very long time.” His feet are planted wide, his arms crossed and his best Captain Watson face is set on his features in warning. “Now piss off and let me pass.”

He yanked on the door and she smiled sweetly knowing her foot was an effective lock. “Or what? You will melt me with your cute death glare? Did they teach that in the army? You are right, I don’t know very much about you. It doesn’t mean I don’t know anything. Can I form some opinions? Yes, you are Dr. Droopy. Old war hero who loves to hate the world and thinks ending it all will solve all his little problems. The whole world sits on your shoulders and while you could be shagging half the pretty young things in this office, you would rather be alone.”

John laughed. He coughed to cover it them mumbled, “Alone is what I have. Alone protects me.”

“No it doesn’t. Trust me on that one. Alone makes you an easy target. And, you just proved it will never protect you from yourself.” She had replied gently, tilting her head and making him look at her. “Everyone has someone. For goodness sake, everyone here adores you. Take your pick and talk to someone.”

“I can’t,” he snapped.

“Why not?”

“Because he’s a little dead. My best friend topped himself in front of me and it makes talking to him a bit boring because he doesn’t answer back. I can’t.”

Her face cooled and she scolded him, forcing him to look her in the eye and pulling no punches. “You won’t, you mean. There are other living options all around you, just in case you didn’t notice. I didn’t see you as the sniveling, coward type. I am usually a much better judge of people. We have all lost people we love. You move on. You talk to someone and you forgive the dead, and then you pick yourself up and you move on. Wallowing in self-pity has become who you are because it’s what you want. You are surrounded by people who genuinely like you, John. Anyone here would be delighted if you would take a little notice and let them in. This sadness and pain is a choice and you are embracing it and keeping yourself apart just so you don’t have to face reality.”

“Maybe you are right. It won’t matter much longer. I am leaving this room now. Like it or not.” John said low and hatefully.

“No. But convince me and I might help you.”

John frowned, “What did you just say?”

“Tell me what could be so bad and if you convince me, I will consider helping you. Please, don’t be stupid, you will be impaired or lose consciousness long before anything we have will stop your heart. You know that. You would need a lot and starting an IV on yourself would be the only way to do it. Kind of look like a ponce to die that way and I could make it look accidental. But you have to convince me.” Mary said defiantly standing her ground as if she had just made a reasonable proposition.

“You are completely insane. You have lost your bloody mind,” John whispered, staring at her with his mouth hanging open.

She raised her chin and sighed. “Two choices John. You talk to me and convince me that life really is that bad and that you want this for a valid unchangeable reason and after you get it all off your chest, if that is what you want, I will help you. Or you can spend the rest of the week in the crayon and mash potato ward.”     

“I can’t talk to people who believe Sherlock Holmes was a fraud,” John said, voice full of emotion and hate in his eyes.

She rolled the exam chair to him and seated herself on the stool, still blocking the door. She looked up at him with steady eyes, pointed and made it a clear order. “Now sit. I don’t believe anything about him one way or another yet. I never heard of him. I never heard of you either and I am sorry if that hurts your ego. You are going to do a permanent thing and I can believe a man like you would be unable to confide in people he cares about because that’s hard. Sometimes strangers are easier. Worth a try.”

“You are wasting your time,” he assured her with a little kinder tone as he lowered himself into the chair and rolled back and forth nervously.

Mary shrugged and smiled slightly then softly explained, “ If it doesn’t help, you haven’t lost more than a few minutes of your time  But the clock is ticking. I don’t bluff. Ever,” She said confidently.

 

John took a deep breath and closed his eyes, “Fine. It doesn’t matter. Someone may as well hear it. Sherlock was all I had. Even my bloody therapist thinks he died because the truth came out and he couldn’t face it. She’s an idiot. But it’s me who has to face all the fall out, isn’t it? Every day. You see? It has been five hundred and thirty days and every one of them has been the worst day of my life. I have tried everything. Three different prescriptions. Therapy. Got attacked at a sodding support group because of what people said about him. The man had never met him. He and a few of his mates caught me alone and not very sober. You can do the math there. I am still stalked by the press.

“ I have to watch every word I say to everyone. Nightmares are the only sleep I get. We won’t even discuss my dating prospects. They are either ‘fans’, have decided I am gay or suddenly won’t return my calls once they figure it out. I have moved three times. The death threats have tapered off a bit but the hate mail; you just can’t comprehend how inhuman people have been. The friends I had and the work I was good at, everything I had ever worked toward vanished with this bullet in my shoulder. He gave it all back and now even that vanished with him. You are very sweet, and I know you mean well, but stopping me is no kindness. There isn’t even anyone to miss me. Not a soul. He was the only one on this earth who I thought needed me in some small way.

“They printed photographs of him, broken and gruesome, and it didn’t even look like him, but I was there and I know it was. People made up terrible things until I thought I was going mad. I shouldn’t even be practicing here or anywhere because I may be hallucinating on rare occasion. I see him. Not very often, and I have never told anyone, but it has happened and I am a little afraid that it may be getting worse. So if you want to report me, go right ahead. It just makes this even easier, knowing there isn’t one thing, not even this boring, stupid, tedious little distraction left. Those anonymous tits who write to me never follow through. I have offered to meet with a few of them and they never show up. I am tired. The battle has just gone too far and I am too worn-out to keep fighting.”

“Wow, have to admit, if all that is true that it is a pretty bleak representation. What was his name again?”     

“You are telling me you have never heard of Sherlock Holmes?” He crossed his arms and then his legs. “Before you go there, he was not my boyfriend.”

“Why would I know him? He didn’t work here? This boring little place is my main source of friendship.” She smiled and put her hand on his arm. “You were in love with him or something? Is that why you can’t let go?”

His face flushed, “I don’t know. I’ll never bloody know, will I? Ancient history. Today he’s been dead longer than I knew him and…” He pulls a breath in and blows it out as if controlling pain. “ He should have not left me here. He should have come back. I asked him to come back.” There were tears in his eyes and that brought a macho anger.

“You asked him to come back from the dead? And he didn’t, so now you are suicidal? See, This is why we should talk more often. I was about to ask you out for dinner and find out all your secrets, but now I am rethinking that option. I’m leaning toward a refresher on how dead is more or less permanent. What do they teach in the army these days?” She rattled quickly without a lot of sympathy. She realized how she sounded and added, “Oh. Sorry. I tend to make very inappropriate jokes at the worst possible time. It is a defense mechanism, not meant to take away from your loss. So this friend of yours, how did it happen?”

He laughed again and his eyes lit up, “He threw himself off the roof of Bart’s bloody hospital. It was all over the telly, the papers, the internet? There is graffiti, all over the city?”

She looked confused and shrugged. “I am more of the library and museum sort. I hate to say it, but I don’t think too much of the press, they never seem to get much right in my experience.”

“You really have no idea who he was? Sherlock Holmes?”

She thought hard. “Kind of sounds like a Footballer?”

“He was a genius. Worked with NSY all the time? Solved murders and found old Dutch paintings and kidnapped children? Consulting Detective? The only one in the world. He invented the job,” John repeated the words of a ghost with dreamy reverence.

“Then what did you do that people still write to you? “

“I was…I was lots of things. His flat-mate. His protector. I was the audience for his genius. His doctor, his blogger, his colleague, his medical expert, his only friend, his maid, his minder, his maker of tea and his bloody conscious at times. He said I was his conductor of light.” John’s eyes were soft and far away.

“Every one of those began with ‘his’. What was he to you?” she prompted.

“He was…my…Sherlock. My Sherlock.” John said with a lazy exaggeration. A tear rolled down his cheek and his head shook as if to deny the ability to fathom a more grand description.

“What does that even mean?” Mary looked both confused and slightly amused, but in a gentle way.

John took a deep breath and held it before whispering, “Everything. My God, Mary, it meant everything.”

“Then you really don’t see how lucky you were, do you?”

__________________________________________-

 

We know she saved John, I decided to take that literally and I wanted to show that she reads people and improvises and that she did not manipulate John and that the sunny person we saw in the beginning really was there.


	3. Get Lucky

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Why was Mary the best thing that could have happened to him. This is my possible solution to that, because Mary has probably had to overcome a lot of stuff of her own and to do that she has to seek the good.

“Then you really don’t see how lucky you were, do you?”

“If I was really lucky, he would be here. Because I would have figured out what he needed to hear that day and he would have known that I would stand by him no matter what anyone said. If I were lucky, he would have known to believe in me as much as I believed in him and he would not have felt that he had nothing in this world that made existing not boring. He didn’t even hesitate, he said ‘Goodbye, John’ and nodded to me, tossed his phone and spread his arms wide and leaned forward. He didn’t even scream and he watched the end come a bit like swimming. He would have known it would break me and he would have known that I will always follow him. He would have known that that was my job. What good is a conductor of light if the luminous apparatus is just a shattered blob of oozing transport?”

Mary folded her hands and looked at John sheepishly, as if she found something charming in his words. “You are not looking at it the right way. I can’t answer why he did it. It’s not always a simple thing as you probably know right this minute. But look at the three most important things there. You were the last person he ever spoke to and that means you were all that mattered in his darkest moment of life.”

“Oh, Jesus. It’s true isn’t it?” John thought about it and sort of laughed in a self-depreciating way. He looked at her, head shaking, “I’m not calling anyone. But if I could, just before, I would call him too. That’s a nice thought. Thanks.”

She nodded, “The last word he ever spoke was your name. Of all the words he must have known if he was a genius, the last one was a common four letter word, that gave him the strength to look into the abyss and not be afraid. Yes it’s horrible, but knowing that you were his comfort and strength. That is very powerful, Dr. Watson.”

John made a sound that was very near a sob, but he nodded at her.

“And the last thing you have to consider is that you have no idea how long that was planned, but you had no warning. He planned that you would be the last connection, the last thing he reached out to before darkness. John, of course he knew. He didn’t say the words, because he showed you instead. How have you spend all this time torturing yourself and not figured out the part that is so beautiful. I know the time was not long enough, but something that deep and true, Oh love, a hundred years would not be enough. I have never found that. Most people don’t. Five hundred and thirty days is five hundred and thirty more than I ever got. If he wanted you to follow, he would have been able to coax you to go. He would, wouldn’t he?” She smiled as if she already knew the answer.

John was breathing heavily, eyes wide and vacant.

Mary stood. She reached out and brushed his cheek with her fingertips and a fond glow shining in her eyes. “Two options, Dr. Watson. I can help you with your stupid selfish plan, like I promised. Or you and I can go out to dinner and celebrate all those incredible days you had the privilege of experiencing. You can tell me all about your Sherlock and we will honor him instead of just mourn. Think about it, take your time and I am getting back to work. Don’t worry, I will tell them you had a reaction to shellfish and that will account for the splotches. Let me know what we are doing tonight so I can pick out frilly or granny.”

John’s lost expression was broken and his forehead wrinkled in confusion. “I’m sorry. Frilly or Granny what?”

Mary sent him a brilliant nose wrinkling grin as she replied cheekily, “Guess you will have a mystery of your own to solve.”

John’s mouth hung open and the corners quirked up as he blinked rapidly and suddenly a fair amount of the misery that had nearly etched into his expression melted away into pleasant wonder and playful embarrassment. “Oh,” He whispered softly as the door swung shut.

He laughed more that night than she’d seen him laugh the whole time she’d worked in the clinic. It was a coincidence that she happened to return to the clinic one night after hours only to find six men trying to beat John up to gain access to the same cabinet, full of a fortune in street value drugs. She sensed danger and slipped her handgun from her purse and silently assessed the situation. John was not whimpering or begging for mercy, he was already bloody, out-numbered, knew for a fact that as soon as he told them, they would probably slit his throat and the cocky little bastard was laughing at them, making fun of them.

He was the most bloody terrifying underdog she had ever seen.

Mary had seen a lot of men beg for everything from their mothers to strange god’s as their life faded. This man rode toward the veil with a bank of staircase humor packed in his pocket. His comments lagged behind their subjects just enough to make him seem a little barmy. She covered her mouth to giggle silently and felt her heart fall deeply and truly in love. She shot two of them and incapacitated another, but John had sprung without warning or question. When he looked at her once it was all sorted, she had expected to see many emotions dabble his face as he decided that she was no longer feminine and cute and ladylike. All she had found there was the door to his passion.

It was the first time she had ever seen him absolutely alive. “Jesus, you just saved my life. That is extraordinary. Where did you learn to handle one of these…like that?”

“Uncle in Texas.” She lied.

He played boring John and she played charming Mary, and they both knew that the other was a fibber. Sherlock called that one perfectly.

They were so busy with themselves that neither of them noticed Sherlock’s obviously deteriorating condition. He stood and even whilst his heart must have been giving its final rhythmic lurches, Sherlock had made John focus on Magnussen as the enemy. She swallowed, wondering if his dying words would be that John could trust her.

 

___________________

 

Ok this is my idea of what may have bonded them so quickly considering John had trust issues - there were so many parallels between Mary and Sherlock that I wanted to keep that as part of her charm. 


	4. Brown Bread

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John and Mary talk after the ambulance leaves.

\--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

John collapsed into Sherlock’s chair and she knew his heavy breathing was his precursor to sobbing. She kept her voice as soft as she could, “You need to go, John. You should be there if..in case he..”  


John looked up at her and shrugged. “Dies? Just say it. You are not of a delicate constitution. Dying, Failing, Bleeding out, Rottingham, Just add maggots, brown bread. Doesn’t matter if I go or not. It’s all out of my hands. You took it all out of my hands. You knew I would not survive this again? I wonder, whatever your name is, were you working for Moriarty or Magnussen?”

She shook her head in disbelief. “Is there any point in me staying?”

“That very much depends on if he lives.” John said behind his hand hiding that ruthless smile of his again. “Oh don’t look at me. You have a much bigger problem than his best friend wanting your blood. You have met his brother.”

She chewed her lip and sighed. “So nothing has changed in the long run.” She nodded and did the cute nose wrinkle he liked when she was being sarcastic.

“No – not really. I am never sure if that one is a hero or the villain.” John agreed.

“Both, John. Just like me. Just like Sherlock and as much as you want to say it isn’t true, just like you. We all have to live with what we do.” She looked around the flat as she spoke, touching things and solidifying memories.

“He lied for you, just now. Most of that was rubbish. Did you call the ambulance?”

“No. But Magnussen did, before I knocked him out. He had it on auto dial, so I knew I had to get out quickly. I imagine he called it for himself, hoping they’d save him. I counted on you being too busy saving your friend, for you to chase me.”

“Yeah. That was impressive. That you got away, very impressive.  He was screaming in pain when I headed up the stairs. By the time I got there, he had stopped. What did he say, that made you shoot him?” John’s face was bland and almost friendly.

“He offered to help me and said I would not shoot him. But he just kept coming. He should have just stood still. I was out of practice, horrified that he had followed me, and emotionally compromised. I have never been caught. I didn’t have time to think it through. All I could think of was how terrified I was that this, right here, between us, that this would happen. I panicked. It was too many years of training stacking up against some very new emotional conflicts. I am truly sorry. Will you ostracize the child because of me?” She spoke with a direct dignified calm.

“Will I ever see it? Is it even mine?” John asked, lobbing his words like a bomb.

She gave him her best, really-John look of wife anger until she realized that he was not affected by it at all. She schooled her features into a placid calm and said with as much gentleness as she could,“I understand. But I won’t listen to this right now. For my past, I am sorry. And for Sherlock. I never dreamed the two of you would be there. Of all the places in this city for the two of you to show up.”

She closed her eyes and breathed deeply before continuing, “ He put you in that bonfire. I can’t prove it, but I know. I had to stop him from doing a better job next time. I wasn’t working for him. That was the whole problem. I stood up to him and he didn’t like it. If it had been me he tried to burn alive, can you say you would have just waited for him to try again?”

“But you didn’t trust me? I never had to choose between you and him did I, Mary? You and Sherlock both think I am too stupid and useless to say anything important to. I thought you were so amazing for accepting him so readily. But that wasn’t what it was about. Not just for me was it? You liked knowing you had fooled Sherlock Holmes? I thought you were day and night, but you’re twins. I am the only one stupid enough to put up with you both, because other people see. He used everyone for a case, proposed to Janine, just to get in the door. And you? You married me for the same kind of reason. A disguise.”

Mary nodded, not in agreement but in acknowledgement that if she tried to talk to him now, he would keep saying horrible things and denying them would just solidify all of his imaginings. “You have your answers if you need to hate me, it’s all there. You don’t have to make things up, John. If you want to make me out to be a villain, it’s in your pocket. So, I am tired, and I am going to our home to have a good hormonally instigated cry and then, I am going to wait until you figure out what you want. I am the same person. If I were out to get you in some way, I could have just pretended not to notice. So, I hope you remember that one fact when you start pairing me up with every enemy you have ever encountered. I didn’t start the war either, just in case you wandered down that path too. I love you. No matter what you ever think of me, I do love you. If we try to talk now, there is no hope at all.”

“Okay. Fair enough. I will warn you, that if he…if this is…If he dies, you best run. I can’t make any promises about who will walk out the other side of this. ”John half-growls and half clears his throat before blowing his cheeks out trying to keep his calm.

“We will stand on that bridge when the rain comes, John. It would be a good war, but it would break me to beat you.” She grinned genuinely.

“That would be incredibly ambitious of you, Mrs. Watson.” He purred with sexual suggestiveness as well as a playful death-wish competitiveness.

Her heart melted at this lunatic she had married and she winked then said kindly, as if telling him to eat his dinner,“Go on then. We have time. Think carefully about what you can survive, John. Losing him isn’t the only thing that will break you.   I won’t leave unless you tell me to. Promise. Don’t let him wake up alone. Please let me know if his resurrectional nibs is alright? Even if he’s not?”

“Do you honestly care?” He didn’t say it in a vicious way, more hesitant and confused.

“The best disguises aren’t really disguises, John. I was Mary Morstan for a long time before I got to be Mary Watson. I like her. She’s who I should have gotten the chance to be. If I didn’t care, I would already be gone. You say I didn’t trust you, but every second I stay, I am trusting you now. Because a chance with you, no matter how small, is worth the risk.”  

John stood as she left the flat and watched from the window as her cab disappeared into the London night.  He followed a while later after a long hot shower and a large breakfast, taking the tube and enjoying the feel of average lives with boring little problems waxing and waning in his proximity. “What do normal people have in their normal daily lives?” John asked himself, echoing Sherlock’s words the night they became friends. John realized he no longer had any idea what normal was.

______________________________________________________-

 

_It never showed John following Sherlock to the hospital.  I could see him taking his time, having a last shower and meal to prepare for a long bedside vigil or just because as long as he waited, Sherlock was still alive.  They never showed us that ambulance ride or any private conversation at all between Mary and John so I had to wonder if there had been one, it could not have been too pleasant._


	5. Observation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Of course they read the flash drive, they were not idiots. The boys discuss what they should do and what John wants.

 

Sherlock was kept in a medically induced coma for a few days and John sunk into something of a self-induced one as he sat numbly by Sherlock’s bed and let the steady beeps of the monitors morph into violin solos soothing him in the long dreary nights.

They read her flash drive as soon as Sherlock was lucid. Of course they read it, they were not idiots. The information was bad, but their imaginations had quickly gone toward far worse places then reality. They trickled information to Mycroft, and he trickled confirmation that the information she’d given was subjectively accurate.

“John, the elephant in the room is the child.” Sherlock added one day after they had discussed round and round what all the outcomes could bring.

“What kind of life will it have, Sherlock? I can’t wrap my head around it. It would never be safe, not with her living anywhere near it,” John had responded with sad surety.

“Nor with me having the slightest contact. Your family will always be in danger so long as you are associated with me. I would give you up if that was what you required to maintain your indulgent fallacious fantasy that you alone can make the world safe?” Sherlock said staring pointedly out the window.

John sucked his breath in and held it. “Is that a sideways ultimatum? Them or you?”

“Don’t be an idiot. I wouldn’t impose my worst nightmare, knowing the probable outcome. I simply would abide by your decision if that was what you felt was necessary. I imagine Mycroft could even assist you if you wanted a further barrier. New identities that even I, in my darkest moments, would be unable to track. Or I could go back to what I was doing, and this time stay away.”

“You would let me go. Just like that? No regrets? Funny, that actually hurts more than it helps.” John said, not taking his eyes off his friend.

Sherlock shrugged. “You are fishing, John. Words don’t mean anything. I could say things to you in a dozen languages and you would never hear anything but sound. If my actions don’t say all the things I never will, then that is due to your abysmal observational skills and not because the motive is any secret.”

John smiled and his eyes crinkled, “Then keep your vow. I can’t do this without you. Rubbish at it, if you want the truth. I would rather be in danger every day, than spend another hour thinking you were dead. I am not sure that I wouldn’t have killed her, if you had died. How do you not see that?”

“You would need several lifetimes to avenge every tosser who wanted me dead. What a waste of effort that would be, considering how often you let the thought of killing me flit across your face.” Sherlock teased.

John giggled, “Can’t let the bad guys have all the fun, you ponce.”

Fifteen days before Christmas, Sherlock was let out of hospital. John had not moved out of Mary’s flat, nor had he quite taken up residence in Baker Street, but instead he was on a constant loop of musical sleeping quarters. Now that Sherlock was home, he knew he had to stay with him at least for the first few days and he and Mary were both still wrapped up in their careful Samurai silence, neither able to make the first move and lose the strategic advantage. It was still a war, but a cold war.

Sherlock had been extremely quiet and cooperative all afternoon, but John took it as the tranquil warning before the squall. Billy Wiggins provided relief any time that John could not be there and seemed to have wangled 221C as his new residence.  He didn’t mind the damp and was systematically eradicating the mould for Mrs. Hudson. John could not say he approved of the arrangement entirely considering where they had made acquaintance, but so long as he didn’t turn Baker Street into a the drug den equivalent to a bed and breakfast, John had no right to say anything, because technically he didn’t live there any longer.

Billy was beyond solicitous toward Mrs. Hudson and could usually be found puttering round, tinkering with fixtures, painting things and making general repairs without being asked. Sherlock more than tolerated Billy, he liked the fact that Billy, despite his hard Estuary grammar and ridiculously exaggerated glottal stops, was quite brilliant. It was uncanny how William Wiggins resembled Sherlock when dressed in Sherlock’s cast offs. Unlike Sherlock, he was rarely seen without a tie, though he somehow managed to make even Sherlock’s ultra-conservative hand-me-downs look a little twee.  

There was also Molly and surprisingly Philip Anderson and his charming new girlfriend to take over care of Sherlock, should it be required. John didn’t have to stay, but he seemed to need to be there far more than Sherlock needed him in fact.

\---------------------------

_I adore Billy!  Tom Brooke is brilliant so I had to impose him into some of the in-between, from crack house minder to Christmas cocktail mixer.  We don't know if john was around when Sherlock recuperated or not because we only see John interact with Mary prior to the drugging and taking off for a Nightmare on Christmas.  I felt this conversation had to have taken place to some degree - because if you wife shoots people, those people may not want to be around you and to me that was a lot of passing time in which nothing supposedly happened._


	6. Brilliant

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Janine comes to visit and John takes a walk.

Janine’s visit was unexpected, considering that she had told all manner of outrageous stories about her ‘engagement’ to Sherlock Holmes. Mycroft had not made her disappear, surprisingly, but it still stunned John when he answered the door and she beelined straight to the sofa and curled up on Sherlock’s lap without so much as a word of hello. Sherlock sighed heavily and murmured to her as she succumbed to a particularly dramatic bout of sobbing.

John went to the kitchen to make tea, but did not refrain from actively eavesdropping.

“Just popped in town, wanted a top off, did you?” Sherlock murmured with amusement.

“Came to return your ring,” She said finally with a hiccup and a sniffle.

“Oh dear. On the bright side, you got a pretty good run out of it? One of the nurses propositioned me, by the way, four times. Sponge baths were unbearable. Thanks for that,” He teased wiping her tears away with a clean spot on his dressing gown sleeve.

“Cheating on me with nurses? You’re just handing me job security, you lying bastard. Thanks for that, then. You always could cheer me up.” She kissed him on his forehead and he smiled up at her in delight.

“Sorry I was such a rubbish boyfriend and an unfaithful fiancé. Why are you returning the ring? That at least was real, my love. Shouldn’t you sell it and spend the money on slutty holidays and tanning cream?”

“Tempting, but…” she picked at his sleeve and looked miserable.

“You are not pregnant, and if you were…oh. I see. You can’t get a job.”

“Not even as a shop girl. Teaching me a lesson, he is. Wants me to come back and work for him.”

“I don’t understand. You let me breach his security?” Sherlock asked as if it were an outrage.

She rolled her eyes and looked even more depressed, as she said with a sigh, “Yeah, saved his life with that. Got you shot instead and so he wants to forgive me. The bastard.”

“Long commute from the cottage. The bees will get lonely,” Sherlock said.

She dug through her bag and produced the ring case and opened it. “You have lovely taste. You are supposed to meet my Mum and Da in two weeks. Figured I’d better save you that indignation. I want to torture you for breaking my heart, not get you locked up in Bedlam.”

Sherlock took the box from her and gazed at the stone for a moment. He pulled it out of the box and let the light make it sparkle. “You had it cleaned?”

She nodded and tucked her hair behind her ear, tilting her head and squirming deeper in his lap. “I found it. You must have dropped it when…there was blood on it. Not much on the floor, but this. Made me sick.”

“In my pocket, coat soaked up the worst of it. The emergency responders must have inadvertently jostled it out when they carted me away. Worked out nicely for you. Here. Wear it a bit longer, until a better offer comes along, at least. You never know what I will get up to next. Might stretch your fifteen minutes of infamy, if I can swing a few more scandals for your coffers.  The parents will have to wait until after Christmas. My own parents insist on my presence. Tell yours it’s a matter of my inheritance. I’m sure they will understand if they’re anything like the precious daughter they raised.”

She smirked and rubbed noses with him. John brought the tea in and she looked up as she took the cup. “You and Mary aren’t getting on?” she said with disapproval.

John smiled his fuck-you smile and cleared his throat. “She hasn’t forgiven me for getting Sherlock shot. Probably disappointed it wasn’t me instead.”

Janine snickered, “Well, if you need any advice on fairy-tale relationships, you have two experts right here? “

“Yes. Read about your…ummm. Expertise, in the tabloids. I don’t think I could ever live up to…urrmm. Right. Any plans to be engaged a little more privately? Any time soon? To someone else, perhaps?” John stammered with discomfort.

“Got his claws out, duddn’t he?” she said grinning at Sherlock.

“Expect to get him litter trained any day now. But, enough about John. Why are you really here?”

“You already know, don’t you? The question is, can you help at all, or does he have you too? Myce seems to have cocked up, Sheryl. I think it’s bad. I have to go back. Lost cause, and all. Seems to be my calling. But I thought that if you were still up to no good, maybe while you were mucking around with the devil, that you could perhaps keep me in mind? He was never bad to me. I liked working there. But, he’s a total psycho nutter, and Sheryl, he has it out for you.”

“Why did you let me into the office if you knew he was there?”

“He told me to. Said it was fine. Seemed pretty pleased at your audaciousness. He was running late for dinner and said he would give us a private moment while he got ready and that he just loved weddings. Next thing I knew, he and I were sharing an ambulance and he said you didn’t have much of a chance to live. They kept asking who tried to kill you, but I never saw them. I do know what he is like, but it was just a good job and he knew some things that I’m not very proud of, but other than a bit of teasing, he always treated me well. He was always nice to me. Like an indulgent but slightly baffled Uncle. He did a lot for me in the early days and I was very loyal to him. I actually met Mary there. He said they had known each other for years. He laughed when I told him about the wedding and how you and I had hit it off. He said I should let you come on up and propose properly. We didn’t expect whoever gave us the goose eggs and we still don’t have a clue how they got in.   You didn’t say John was with you. I wonder why they left him be? Poor Carl, the security guy, he’s pretty tough and he still can’t work. Hit him so hard it cracked his skull.” She explained.

“Tragic.” Sherlock said with a smirk. “So, by the time I was lucid, you had quit your job and changed your mind about our friendship. Care to enlighten me?”

Janine shrugged and looked at John, waiting for him to explain. John cleared his throat and waved his hand sheepishly. “Sorry about that. It just slipped out.”

“Nice, John. I do think I could have managed it without quite so much—“

“Just saving you time.” John interjected. “Doing her a kindness, wasn’t it?” He smiled innocently.

“Of course. Your best friend is coding and that is the perfect moment to tell the woman he just proposed to that it was a ruse for a case. Good call that! “ He glared at John then made a sound of disgust. Sherlock turned to Janine. “It was a ruse, but I had intended to let you down a bit more gently, and not for some time. It wasn’t all as bad as I am sure he painted it. He’s usually better at this whole break up thing. He drives them off with broken dates and inattention.”

“At least I don’t propose to them for a bloody case.” John groused under his breath.

“Oh? Shall we debate the sentimental lassitude of your decision making process?” Sherlock said, raising one eyebrow.

John stood up and growled, “Shut up? I mean it. Not another word.” He looked up shaking his head and laughing at the absurdity of the situation. “Yeah, I am going for a walk. Janine, it’s always an education seeing you. Hope you and he—Whatever!”

“Don’t be like that, John. Jealousy is such an ugly way to show affection. Flowers and chocolate are a bit cliché but they do make your intentions much clearer.” Janine said with innocently wide eyes and a huge gleeful smirk.

“Oh, Jesus. There it is. You too? You were at my wedding, if I recall? You wore purple, and did a lot of flirting. You even spent a rather large amount of the day trying to seduce the biggest bloody arse in the room, if I remember correctly. Which, according to every paper in London, you managed quite nicely!” John returned while pulling on his coat.

“Call em like I see them. Not the first time the possibility has been brought up. Half of London suspects you two are shagging. And the other half, have no doubt whatsoever. Latent homosexuality is nothing to be ashamed of, but getting married just to prove you’re not mad about this one, might not work out so pretty in the long run. I don’t see Mary beaming about her wedded bliss these days. And he’s right, you know? Really odd timing on the state of my fake relationship, with him bleeding to death and all. It’s almost like you don’t want him, but don’t want anyone else to have him either? I could be wrong there, but I’m not the only one to notice, you know?” Janine fired directly and ferociously.

Sherlock’s face was red and horrified. “Janine. Don’t. Please.” He said, voice hitching as he gripped her hand and squeezed it hard. His eyes pleaded with her to back down.

She looked at him, pity coming into her eyes and a deep breath signaled her understanding. “Oh. God. I am so sorry, John. I am not myself right now. I am just all over the place on the emotional bit these days. I didn’t mean anything. I’m lashing out at everyone lately. “

Some of John’s anger and frustration fled with a deep sigh, and he spoke carefully, “Okay. It’s fine. You’re right, of course. But only about the bad timing. You and Sherlock are none of my business and I should have kept my mouth closed. You are both right about that and I am sorry. Wasn’t my place. The rest of that, I hope you do honestly know, is a load of rubbish. People are idiots. They do and say stupid things that get blown up and end up hurting people. I love him more than life. I bloody well do. Can’t deny it. But I am not, nor have I ever been, his boyfriend.” John shrugged and spread his arms for emphasis. Hand on the door, he added, “ Sherlock, I have my phone. Text me when…I mean if you need anything. I will be back later. Going to pop out for a bit.”

Sherlock nodded, refusing to look at John, his jaw working angrily was the only indication that he was not flitting off to his mind palace. Janine stood slowly and took a hesitant step toward John, then stopped. “I really am sorry. I didn’t…”

“I said it was fine.” John looked at Sherlock and his face darkened as if something just dawned on him, but he said no more and turned to leave, closing the door to the flat firmly but not hard enough to be called an indicator of demonstrative turmoil.

“Made pants of that, didn’t I. Sorry about that.” she said sincerely.

Sherlock nodded and looked down at his hands, “It doesn’t matter. It never will. I would very much appreciate it if this conversation could perhaps not be part of your ongoing revenge campaign.”

“Oh, Sheryl. Bless your cold little heart. I can’t use this against you. Because it’s not a lie. That was the whole point. Teaching you not to lie to me.” She sits down carefully and takes his hand.

Sherlock flashes her his brilliant smile and Janine pretends not to see how liquid his eyes have grown.

“I will take care of your Boss. Keep your head down. Wounded and full of contrition will placate him to the best effect.” He said, raising his chin and reading her carefully. “Friends forever?”

“You’re too damned pretty to hate for long. You are a good man, Sherlock Holmes.”

“For a ridiculous, over-sexed, demanding arse-hole with a hat fetish?” he contributed with a secretive glimmer in his eyes.

She leaned in and kissed him, slowly and sweetly. He closed his eyes and kissed her back. He sighed with annoyance when he heard the click of her phone taking a picture.

“If that is necessary, at least do it properly.” He cupped her head, fingers grasping her hair possessively and took her mouth with hunger, making her whimper as she fiddled with the phone. It took an inordinate amount of time to make the device do her bidding the second time. He didn’t stop for several minutes after the tell-tale click and long after both of them had begun to need more oxygen than normal respirations provided.

She pulled away and shuddered as if trying to get her attention back on business. She had lost her phone and had to squirm around searching for it. “You really shouldn’t waste that, you know. I bet you would be bloody brilliant.” Her voice was soft and fond and her eyes hungrily flicked to his lips.

“I am an addict. I have no boundaries. Seven times a night would never be enough and my appetites would soon surpass your ability to cope with my less charming personality properties. If that were not enough to dissuade you from making such a grievous miscalculation brought on by chemical flux meant to fool us into replacing our failing dying transportation systems with melded replications, then consider my brother.”

She looked at him eyes wide and confused expression mixing with desire. Breath, deep and even, she asked, “How did he end that lovely thought?”

He did not look at her eyes, but watched his hand feather the skin on her neck and move at the pace of a MRI machine down her shoulder, across her back, down the backs of her arms as his voice deepened to a seductive range that probably meshed earthquakes with the rumbles of lions before a feed. “Because no matter how careful we were, every small whimper and sigh, every shiver of pleasure I could coax from your very beautiful skin, and every climax I wrought mercilessly from you, long after you begged me for rest rather than _La petite mort,_ he would be watching. His minions would catalogue and edit our activities and it would be a constant interference in your life. So, unless I have very much miscalculated your somewhat non-vanilla but perfectly normal array of sexual kinks, and they do in fact include exhibitionism to half of MI-6 and the occasional nosy politician, then I suggest you not continue to tempt me when I am obviously emotionally reprehensible when something has my singular attention.”

     

“Defiantly and inexplicably still hot, but brother voyeur is the icky bit. Yep, that’s a turnoff there. Does he really do that?”

“Would you like to relive our last bath?” He asked, in a matter of fact fashion.

“ No wonder you are living in a chocolate tea pot and boiling water. I should be off then.” She pecked him on the forehead protectively whilst flipping her bird finger to the empty room. “Call me. I keep a lot of secrets Sheryl. I can keep some of your real ones, if you would let me. Better than chemically extinguishing that incredibly sexy mind of yours.”

He took a deep breath and held it, considering her words. “I am not a good man, Janine. You have mentioned on several occasions that you know what sort of man I am. Try not to be too disappointed.”

She grinned mischievously, “Too late. I’m even rethinking my views on exhibitionism, Mister.”

He looked up almost keeping the shock from showing. He slowly let the grin climb all the way to his eyes. “Mmmmm. No you’re not.”

“Naw. But got ya.” She leaned on the door and concentrated for a moment. “That was your let down speech, the one the good doctor cheated you out of, wasn’t it.”

He really did like how quickly she caught on to things and sighed contentedly, “Think it would have worked?”

“Brilliantly. I’ll give you that. But I do like my cottage so it worked out for the best. You should come see me sometime. I will introduce you to my bees and test your allergy threshold. Bring the handcuffs and I will see how many stings it takes to forget what you lost on the day we met.”

“Vixen.” He said softly. “Give your parents my love and regrets.”

 

________________________

 

_I adore Janine because she was fun and quick.  I believe Magnussen mentioned her to judge Sherlock's reaction that he had flicked her face too.  To me it was one of the puzzle pieces that explained Sherlock killing him.  I don't think it was all for John - that is just too easy of an answer.  Kudos? Comment?_


	7. She was ours

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A shocking revelation about Mary

Sherlock had just closed his eyes and reclined to his thinking pose when the footsteps of several strangers and a distinct set of heels announced that he had visitors. He wrapped his dressing gown tightly around himself and quickly pulled an afghan over himself.

The scent of Clair-de-la-Lune filled the air already, but the distinct scent of the perfume’s opening notes could be distinguished from the saturated wall paper and floor boards long in the dry down stage. Sherlock took on an air of slightly weaker than he actually was, struggling pathetically to rise to his elbows.

“I’m not fit for visitors, Lady Smallwood.” Sherlock said extending his hand to her anyway and smiling. “But you have news for me?”

Elizabeth Smallwood gave her guard and chauffeur a discrete look and they left the room, closing the door. “I do. It isn’t good. Are you well enough for me to speak with you?”

Sherlock smiled, “For you, if I am breathing, I am well enough, Aunt Liz.”

She smiled and her face softened, she sat down on the coffee table. “I don’t know where to begin.” She said with regret.

“This isn’t your fault,” Sherlock said carefully.

“Oh, Sherlock. My dear boy. I am afraid that this is very much my fault. I brought this to you and then on top of that, I kept things secret…”

“That is your job? Have you and Mycroft ever kissed and made up or are you still avoiding his umbrella?” Sherlock smirked and squeezed her hand.

“No. Probably never will see eye to eye now. He was furious enough that you were taking on his … Ex. Only Mycroft could stand to be near a man like that.” She whispered with frustration.

“No accounting for taste. He even seems fond of me from time to time though I do everything in my power to discourage him.” Sherlock deadpanned.

“The assassin was under my orders,” She blurted.

“Oh! That. But?” Sherlock stammered, unable to assimilate this new information fast enough.

“Mary Watson, came out of retirement, for me. Well, for my husband and me. Sherlock, Mary has been with us for many years. We brought her here when her cover was blown beyond all hope five years ago. She was discouraged, exhausted and had no place in the world that was safe. She wanted out and we helped her. She was never a freelance mongrel. She was ours, though the colonist rabble would disagree.  But you must understand, in my world, things are far more complex than anyone can imagine. It was by my order than anyone who saw her face had to be considered…”

“Collateral damage. Yes of course, and you had no way of predicting that your backup plan would interfere with your primary intention. That’s brilliant. I was merely a distraction.” Sherlock schooled his face to hide how much that hurt.

“I knew given enough time, that you would be successful. I honestly had no idea that you were not…compromised by what I read in the papers. My husband’s position is quickly deteriorating and I wanted to give him some resolution in the hope that, well he isn’t as strong as he once was,” She explained carefully.

“How did Mycroft take it?” Sherlock inquired suddenly.

She sighed.

“Are he and Charles still…” Sherlock asked very quietly and his breathing was all that gave away his rage at the idea.

“God no. Not for years, Sherlock. He never forgave him, and he never will. You know your brother. He rarely ever has a change of heart.”

“Yet, he was to accompany him to dinner that very night, was he not?”

Lady Smallwood shifted on the table slightly to get a better angle for what she was about to convey. Her voice was a whisper, “He’s just playing the game. He needs him to cooperate at this time. Your brother’s arms have grown long and weary. Your rescue was much harder on him than you imagine. He is still paying the price for that decision. He let things slide because he trusted no one else to bring you home intact. He is only one man, Sherlock.”

“You don’t even like him!” Sherlock admonished.

“That doesn’t mean I don’t respect him. My first intention was to offer my apology. She had no idea you and John were on this case. I offered her sanctuary within hours of your injury. She declined then and has continued to do so. Secondly, I have come to ask for your continued assistance and plead that you will understand that only my sentiment for you would bring me to make such disclosure. Your brother needs you. If he loses this battle with that disgusting maggot, his career most certainly and quite probably his life will be over. I do know there is a certain history of conflict, but surely your past two years with me have proven his devotion to your wellbeing.” She tilted her head and brushed away a curl from his forehead.

“I don’t think he will work with me. He is hiding something and I don’t know what. He threatened me if I didn’t stay out of this. He picked him. I am always the last resort it would seem,” Sherlock said, letting irritation leak into his final sentence.

“Give yourself some credit. You have your fingers in so many clandestine places and you are not really known by anyone truly. You have the best of both worlds. Fame and anonymity. You may not be Plan A, but when all else has failed, when no other person can do anything, you save the day most often. You would be dead within a month, I daresay, if anyone ever imagined the things you have actually been up to with the shades drawn. You were very good at seeing avenues others could never have pulled off. That’s why I came to you. Your little eccentricities protect you. If the world actually took you seriously, demand would outweigh your resources just before you ended up in a suitcase.” She said in her cool professional tone.

“Well, that reference was in poor taste. You are aware…” he questioned with mock surprise.

“Of course I am. I am quite interested to hear your theory?” she raised one eyebrow.

He smirked, and blew air out of his nose. “Not a theory. It was obvious and no, I am not divulging the solution to that until certain other parties have been brought home. Sometimes the truth behind the mystery is worse than the mystery itself. You might be able to torture the names out of me but…Oh yes, back to me working with Mycroft. Why do you care about Mycroft?”

“I don’t. He is an egomaniacal manipulative fiend, he always has been. But he is one with an exemplary moral compass. Without his obsessive micromanagement and unfathomable behavior predictions of the most duplicitous bastards ever to call themselves world leaders we would be in a far darker place. Ironically that makes him one of the free world’s most valuable assets. For every irritation that slips by him or gets away from him, I can assure you he’s prevented three disasters, sometimes whilst sipping his first cup of tea. He is respected because he earns every drop of it and he’s feared for the same reason,” She said firmly.

“And Magnussen wants him more than ever before?” Sherlock folded his hands and closed his eyes.

“Yes.” She stood and paused a moment watching him.

“Your husband is contemplating suicide? Make him promise to hold out until Christmas. Trick him, watch him, hell, lock him down if you must, but swear to him that the New Year will be worth celebrating.” Sherlock opened his eyes and looked up at her.

“Thank you. I will try. I don’t need to tell you that—“

“Yes. Yes, I know. On my own. No relation, just a client. Have I ever let you down prior to this?” Sherlock said in his bored of this discussion voice. He flapped a hand waving her to go away.

She smiled down at him and whispered, “Let me see, you convinced your mother that I had purchased cigarettes for you and your brother.”

“I was eight. Mycroft threatened to tell Mummy about my six pet bats in the attic if I told her where they actually came from and I couldn’t take a chance. Three of them were pregnant. I couldn’t have them suddenly homeless with new-born kits.”

Lady Smallwood smiled and shook her head. “Times haven’t changed at all. You still protect creatures others never would, don’t you? One of them appears to be living in the cellar these days.”

“Billy is brilliant. You should recruit him.”

“Please do be careful,” She responded and the door clicked closed.

 

_________________________________________--_

_Lady Smallwood going to Baker street always set as odd to me because we never saw any other contact and Lord Smallwood commits suicide - so we needed to find out if she Blamed Sherlock or was in league with Mycroft to protect him. (he killed the man who drove her husband to suicide so why did she not speak in his defense too?)  What connections did we miss there?  Magnussen said she was British with a backbone.  "I like her." He said popping his mouth like a goldfish.  (Was that a hint?  Sherlock hated him on a personal level ['appalled' by his brother's association with him]  - Mycroft called people goldfish which is a very unique term.  So In this story I am inferring that at some point Mycroft had found someone who was not a goldfish but a shark -- see how symbols can lead you to new connections?)_


	8. chocolates

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John brings home a gift for Sherlock

John climbed the stairs in such a stealthy fashion that Sherlock was actually put on alert. The knob twisted and Sherlock prepared to harpoon the intruder.

John’s face went white with surprise as he entered and found himself at the tip of a deadly antique that functioned with the same reliability as the C10. It worked perfectly most of the time until it suddenly jammed or cut loose for no apparent reason. “Sherlock, what the bloody…” John pushed it sideways with two fingers.

“Why were you sneaking up the stairs? You don’t normally walk that way.” Sherlock narrowed his eyes and leaned on his harpoon with the same formal stance as Mycroft and his umbrella. “What is that ridiculous object?”

John looked down and sighed, wishing he could hide the silly purchase he’d made on the spur of the moment, though he’d specifically gone out of his way to do so. “Just felt like some sweets,” He mumbled face glowing with embarrassment.

“And you had them gift wrapped? SugarSin? Just on your way then?” Sherlock spoke softly, unable to keep the amusement from his eyes completely. “Did you bring me flowers as well? “

“God, you are such a cock! Here.” John slapped the box into Sherlock’s chest without thinking.

Sherlock winced and his eyes and mouth opened as he gasped in pain and bent forward. He clutched the box for dear life. John was startled out of his anger instantly and steadied Sherlock by the arm while a barrage of apologies continued all the way to the sofa. The harpoon clattered to the floor, thankfully not firing into the kitchen. “Jesus, I am sorry. I am an idiot. I didn’t mean to…I just forgot. I don’t know what was in my bloody head.”

“Its fine. The corner just landed wrong. Stop fussing. It’s not like I didn’t deserve it. You were uncomfortable and I proceeded to tease you. Though, I admit confusion. If you could simply clarify that this is not what it…it’s a joke, of course. Very funny and I –“ Sherlock spoke in his odd rapid muttering as if he were on a case.

  


“No. Sherlock. I think it’s time we talk.” John finally interrupted.

“Oh, God. That sounds dire.” Sherlock replied shaking the box of sweets and bringing the box to his nose to inhale deeply.

“Don’t deduce it. Just open the bloody thing and keep your poncy git mouth occupied with the contents for five damned minutes so I can get this out before I change my mind.”

“Before you start—“Sherlock began.

“No. Shut up. Just this one time you will hear me out. You won’t interrupt—“

“You don’t under—“

John brought his finger up to Sherlock’s face pointing it like a parent warning a child. “I mean it. I don’t care if you know what I am going to bloody well say. I don’t care if it matters to you or not. I don’t care if you laugh at me for the next twenty years. I need to say this. I have for a long time and you will eat one of those voluntarily, while I speak, or I will cram them down your smart ass throat. Clear?” John interjected in his dangerous soldier voice.

Sherlock looked mildly offended and replied softly, “Very well. Proceed.” He kept his eyes on John and randomly took one of the chocolates, and popped it in his mouth. “Happy?” he said with the gold dust covered sweet creating a large lump on his cheek.

John looked at him, and his face softened. Sherlock sat on the old green sofa with his back ram rod straight in his best dressing gown and the colorful box perched on his primly held together knees. He had stuffed the entire confection in his mouth and his lips were covered in the gold dust that he was completely unaware of having brushed there, because he was staring at John with his full attention without the intensity of a crime scene, but as if he were bracing to be told to walk the plank. The sun lit his curls like a halo and John sighed softly.

Sherlock tried to keep his mouth closed as he worked at chewing the colossal ball of truffle. His eyes widened further as he slowly chewed.

John tilted his head and smiled as he asked quietly, “How is it?”

Sherlock’s eyes rolled back in his head and he made a groaning noise that was nearly pornographic. “The best thing I ever … God you have to try one.” He held the box out toward John and continued extoling the virtues of John’s gift with sounds John had no idea that the detective was capable of making.

John shook his head and gestured no with his hand. “If there are any left when I am done talking. I felt like a total tit for buying them when I got here, but it seems to have done the trick. Anyway, what I need to say, well…when you died. I had lots of regrets. But one…yeah…one nearly destroyed me but it was not as bad as the one that haunted me. The first one was that I was afraid that it was my fault. I was your friend and I didn’t do a bloody thing to … well to stop you. I just stood there waiting for you to explain and then you did and I refused to comprehend while at the same time I … well what I need to say is, in that moment, I would have done anything. Anything at all. I would have given my own life without a thought, would have been chuffed about it even, if it only would have stopped you.”

“I know that, John,” Sherlock whispered looking miserably down and trying to decide which one to eat next.

“Course you do. Now shut up and eat.” John leaned his elbows on his knees and ran his hands into his hair.

Sherlock bit the next one in half and looked closely at the sprinkle covered contents, poking at them and appearing fascinated.

“I nearly followed you.”

Sherlock’s eyes slowly lifted to John’s and locked there, narrowing in anger. “You. What?” he snarled with pure betrayal.

\----------------------------

 _They didn't show John getting to the point of guilt and despair making him contemplate ending his life, but they did show that he didn't even call Mrs. Hudson.  So his depression had to have been pretty stellar.  Mary asked if he had any idea what he'd done to John.  So this is my version of John explaining_.


	9. Chapter 9

Tears filled John’s eyes and he looked up and sucked a breath before nodding. He opened his palms and shrugged as if to say ‘nothing to be done, it just happened.’ “Is that really so surprising? You had some prior first-hand experience with how it would feel. Irene Adler ring any bells? I knew the day I met you and I knew the day you died. Five-hundred-thirty days. That was all I got. It was the best time of my life. It was everything horrible and wonderful and quite insane and that was never going to happen to me again. The game was over. I hoped. Prayed. Begged. Cried like a fucking baby. Glad you didn’t see that actually. I dreamed of you and I hated myself for never having the damned balls to tell you what you meant to me. It might have made a difference, probably not. Definitely not because of the fake bit. But I didn’t know that then. I didn’t know.”

“I’m sorry.”

“No. Not now. Just,” John made motions for Sherlock to eat.

Taxi breaks squealed outside and the odor of kidney pie wafted up the stairs.

John swallowed, trying to think. “So. I waited. Said that when you got back, I would tell you. I would look you right in the eye and tell you that nobody has ever meant more to me than you. Tell you that I love you. I imagined the look of shock or disgust or amusement. I didn’t care what it was. Sometimes I imagined things that, well, went a bit …south…ward?” John scrunched his nose in humiliation.

Sherlock quickly put another piece of chocolate in his mouth without prompting and chewed in slow motion as if he was forgetting what he was doing. He finally seemed to notice the silence and John’s patient smile and he nodded slowly, one time.

“Okay, That day came. Day five three naught. I had waited as long as I had had you. I wasn’t upset. I wasn’t even depressed by then. I was just…done. Mary caught me stealing from the med cart.”

“Not the gun? I had nightmares about the gun.” Sherlock closed his eyes.

“Well, I. That too. Sherlock, they would have pulled my license. Have you seen what they can do with head trauma these days? And, uhem, I have seen the failures. Pain meds so I could get to the femoral and then a bullet to the medulla oblongata. Three-fold tactical guarantee that the procedure would be successful.”

“Procedure? Horrifically beyond my own nightmares. Would have left a dazzling scene, for someone to find. For me to view the photos of. For God’s sake. I am going to be ill.” Sherlock set the box to the side and quickly made his way to the loo. He sat back down a few minutes later. “You may continue.”

“I didn’t mean to do that to you. Didn’t cross my mind that it would bother you. I do understand. I was sick for a long time.” John admitted.

“You’re a doctor, and a soldier.”

“It’s different when it’s someone you are…in. Love with. There. Jesus, I said it. Oh God. That was the hardest thing…” John took a deep breath and squinted in preparation for Sherlock’s laughter, anger or fist.

Sherlock’s mouth was open and he was completely blank. John patiently waited. He got up and fixed himself a stiff whiskey and brought a second glass for Sherlock.

“You feel like Mary saved your life.”

“Welcome back. Yes. Not just that day. I walked in like a civilian wanker on a burglary at the clinic. There were six of them and I was thinking about getting laid and then I realized that I was going to die and all I could think about was that wherever in the universe you were, I would find you. I would find you. They were doing a really good job and things were proceeding. I was not giving up the code and I was pretty sure they had ruptured a kidney at that point, when there is the click of someone cocking a gun. I thought it was for me, but when two of them fell, instinct took over and when the ambulance pulled away I looked into her eyes and saw as much death as any soldier had dealt. She was incredible. I knew I had just found a brand new heart.”

“You didn’t ask?”

“I did. And she let me infer that she had spent a lot of time in Texas with distant relatives and that the border towns were brutal places filled with gun wielding birds that are absolutely mad about short British doctors. She does a bloody sexy Texas drawl. I didn’t want to look too closely because; I thought she was my last chance. I poured all I would never do for you, into her.”

“I came back and you picked her. You never once…looked at me. Not like I remembered. I thought I had made it up.” Sherlock seemed troubled and downed the whiskey.

“You killed me for the most part and made a bloody joke of me on the night I was going to propose and finally find the strength to let you go. I had finally decided to live, or at least stop being mostly dead and that was when you interrupted to discuss facial hair. You made fun of me. Then in the carriage with the bomb, you faked tears to make me forgive you and then we didn’t die. I loved you most. More than any of the ones who got to know you were alive and that hurt. I suffered long after the press quit hounding me and long after I stopped falling apart every time somebody said something horrible about you and even when they all announced that I had been right about you all along and they all started pointing fingers and wanting me to say things that I wished by then had actually happened – I didn’t get to be put out of my misery. You left me and never looked back. She was the one who picked up the broken foolish man who didn’t have a reason to not top himself. She said I was good enough. She didn’t love you or hate you. I got to tell her my stories and the Sherlock she knew was the one I painted. She didn’t care that you were tall or cool or a bloody lunatic and it meant there was someone who got it. I asked her not to read anything, about you. I wanted her to understand my Sherlock, not theirs, not the Reichenbach hero, but mine.” John said his breathing hard and his voice raspy.

“You have to forgive her.”

John laughed. “You are an idiot.”

“Chocolate and whiskey is amazeballs.”

John broke up into a burst of laughter and finally helped himself to a chocolate, agreeing profusely with Sherlock’s scientific description of the combination. He looked at his glass and again grew serious as he said in an unobtrusive voice, “I have made a decision. It was hard, but I know it is the right thing. I am getting a divorce.”

“No you’re not.”

“Shut up. You can say anything you want when I am done. But you will hear me if I have to tie you down and tape your mouth closed. Just one time. Just this night. We are doing things my way. Because if you care about me at all, you will hear this. “ John chewed his lips as he glared at Sherlock, daring him to speak.

“Good. Last leg here. I won’t torture you much longer. I hate Janine. I hate her mouth on you and I hate her on your lap and I hate her most of all because she made me feel like a tit and a coward today. I hate her for being right. I don’t hate Mary. I do love her very much and I know she will probably end up sharing more of her ammo with the two of us before this is over. I still think she is beautiful and amazing and she would find a way to be anything I ever demanded of her. She is about to give birth to my child and I want to be a part of that if she will let me. I will protect her and care for her so long as she will allow, but I am not throwing away this.

“ I am in love with you and no matter what it means to you or doesn’t mean to you. This is where I will be. She nearly took you away from me and nothing will ever make that okay. I can’t do it. I can’t spend the rest of my life wondering if you understood. I can’t be so afraid of a label that I deny how much I want you. I am not Gay. I am not straight. I am not any of the labels out there. I have had sex with a lot of people. I have loved a lot of people. I was never in love, until you. She was almost there and I would have never questioned my decision if you had not been shot. I would have buried you and any thoughts that we were more.”

“That is all a very kind sentiment, John, but you made your choice and you know I will never be capable of sustaining your attention.” Sherlock said his face dark and his eyes down.

“Okay. I understand. I did expect it and at least you didn’t laugh in my face. I will never be more than a bloody joke to you and it doesn’t make a damned bit of difference. We are friends and it…is all fine.” John offered to refill Sherlock’s glass.

“Is it my turn yet?”

\----------------------------------------------

_They gave us some small bits of this with John telling him that he had asked him not to be dead and Sherlock saying he'd heard him.  But, if the client had not shown up on Stag night I think the conversation would have moved on to feels so it's hard to believe no conversation of this sort didn't occur.  Anyway, hope you like it and Kudos and comments are appreciated._


	10. Duty

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock brings a different concept to light about Mary

John’s brow furrowed and he nodded with a small shrug. “Yeah. Of course, Sherlock. Just try not to take too much of a piss. Please. I knew not to presume anything, but it’s going to be a bit raw.” He dipped his head to the side in an apologetic gesture.

“I meant what I said in the hospital. You are not a joke. I would fall again, fight again, burn again and bleed again for only one person in this world. Unfortunately, I cannot make similar declarations due to a great deal of new information that I have just been made aware of. You will never know what you just said means to me, but it may have been better had I never heard it, so that I could have maintained my self-deception that there would forever be a distinctly unwavering barrier to such whims.” Sherlock sipped his drink.

“I don’t understand.”

Sherlock took a breath and tapped his folded hands against his lips. He seemed in a debate, from the way his eyes flicked away from and immediately back to John.

“Mary was never freelance. She called herself that to protect her employer because she was trusted with delicate situations far too sensitive to have a paper trail back to anyone in an official capacity. During her employment, against most directives and displaying spectacularly poor common sense, Mary and the person responsible for her, became friends. She and Mary connected, if you will. Both very lonely and living lives of extraordinary power, I am sure that somehow together they could be girls, so to speak. A friendship so deep that one would do almost anything to protect the other.” Sherlock said carefully.

“Okay. Go on.” John said his index finger at his lip, rubbing nervously.    

“A little over five years ago, Mary had an operation go very wrong. She escaped, but her cover was blown for all time and there may have been a rather sizable bounty for anyone who would be so kind as to make her whereabouts known. Her friend went to some astonishingly risky, not to mention illegal lengths to protect her. Mary retired. Prior to you and she becoming intimate, her friend found herself in the middle of a deeply troubling personal matter that would have had far reaching repercussions and I am quite sure you can guess the identity of the culprit.”

“Magnussen.”

“For this person, at her request, not even for Mary’s safety alone, your wife came out of retirement, for a singular assignment. The operation we interrupted had been planned long before she became involved with you. She was under strict orders to leave no witnesses. She went to great lengths to perform her task without resorting to any extra victims. But, it was unforeseeable that Plan A would be interrupted by plan B and neither knew of the others participation. Multiple simultaneous operations are a standard procedure and on occasion, there is crossfire.”

“I see. No. I don’t. What are you trying to say?” John asked.

“I am saying that this information changes everything and that you made the right choice, picking Mary. She had no choice, John. She was highly respected and impeccably recommended by someone whose opinion I have nothing but reverence for in this sort of matter. She was my controller, as well, so don’t take those words lightly.  We can lament what if and if only all we want, but at that moment Mary had no good choice. You must forgive her and you must do it with all the love and honor with which you are capable.” Sherlock explained.

“What if that isn’t what I want?” John asked, devastated.

“Then you are signing her death warrant. As well as your child’s.”

“No. You can’t know that. Who even told you this, Janine? The epitome of honesty?”

“Not Janine, though she unwittingly confirmed it. My source is above reproach. She put herself in great danger to even allude to this situation. She is a very old friend of the family.”

“Oh, yes. Your controller? Your spy commanding officer? Some pencil pushing spook who ordered you disposed of without a moment’s thought? Sounds like your brother, just a bit. You should set them up on a date, they would have lots to talk about, people to murder, wars to instigate.” John complained in frustration.

“They are well acquainted and despise each other. They also have a common enemy. Our enemy. Mary’s enemy. Together we have a chance to beat him. Alone he will pick us off one by one and he will eventually demand the unwavering fealty of two of the most powerful people in the world. England will fall if that happens. You fought for Queen and country once, John. This is far more important. Throw Mary to the wolves and we all will be torn asunder.” Sherlock sniffed his nose and blinked. He would not meet John’s penetrating gaze.

“Its not fair. I just…all that. And now, I have to … Its like I’m bloody cursed.” John said disjointed and miserable.

“The two people you love the most, love you beyond all reason. Poor baby. Mary is hardly the consolation prize and I assure you that I am no prize at all. She deserves you more than I do and I won’t be a friend to some dead beat selfish part-time father.” Sherlock responds determinedly. “Now, go home, John Watson. Before I do something we shall both come to regret.”

“You are a bastard.” John said, a tear spilling from his left eye. His face scrunched up in pain for a moment.

Sherlock could not keep his chin from quivering. “No debate there.”


	11. Please dont

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock explains more and John accepts what must be.

“She may not take me back, you know. I didn’t have faith in her.”

“You will not tell her what transpired here tonight. You will pretend you did not read the flash drive and you will destroy it as a token of faith. It will save you the whole Christmas shopping business by giving her what she needs the most.” Sherlock stared at John, his eyes confident he was right and hating every word. At last he saw John give way and he nodded with sad encouragement.

John seemed to wilt in defeat. He poured more whiskey and the understanding that Sherlock was right slowly sunk in. At last he raised his eyes to his friend and made one last stand. “The one time I count on you to be a selfish child, you are the one with integrity. Tell me the real reason for that and I will do exactly as you ask.”

Sherlock reached under the sofa and retrieved his slipper full of cigarettes. He lit one and blew smoke into the still air of 221b. “You told me to fuck off. She could have had you all to herself and it would have probably served me right. I could never have survived it for long. She had no obligation and no reason to talk you around and share you with me. But she did. You wouldn’t have even been here for me to return to, if not for her.”

“I suppose that’s true, but I can’t always do the right thing when it won’t make me happy in the long run. You make me happy. Do you understand that? Is wanting that so wrong?” John tried to justify how he felt.

“This is our flat. Its home. But the building belongs to Mrs. Hudson. She could have kicked me out and found better tenants. You are my home, my beloved Doctor Watson, but your happiness belongs to Mary and she also has allowed me to stay in spite of the fact that she could have taken a far easier path and not one person on earth would have blamed her in the least. There is certain nobility in her. I know because I rise to it when in her presence. We have misjudged her cruelly and I didn’t make a vow to you alone. No matter your decision, I will endeavor to keep mine to the best of my ability.”

John sat for long minutes, staring horrified at Sherlock as he digested the detective’s words. A deep breath made him shudder and he swallowed several times. “Right then. I should probably…” John’s voice dropped and he blushed, he leaned closer and his pupils dilated as he hesitantly spoke, “You know, Sherlock…”

“No. Please don’t. I don’t want to know what I will never know. I could not delete it. In this one area, I can survive ignorance, but knowledge would kill me. The act in no way substantiates nor alters the sentiment and it may create irreparable cataclysmic desires that bear winds we cannot escape.” Sherlock’s hand shook as he took a last hard drag on his cigarette and held the smoke deeply, letting it slowly crawl out his nose.

John stood up, both rejection and admiration mixed his features as he spent several minutes gathering his things and packing them in silence. Sherlock smoked and ignored him.   John set his bag by the door and turned to speak, “Don’t you dare shut me out this time. Don’t you dare make some stupid half-arsed decision without me, because this time, swear to God, I will never forgive you. Together. You and me. Do you understand?”

Sherlock took a deep breath and observed John for a heartbeat before smiling and saying, “Of course I understand. Idiot.”

John relaxed and returned the smile. “I will go.to a hotel or maybe stay with Harry. I can't go to her. Not yet. I am going to try to sort things in my head but I will be here...text me? I will see you tomorrow.”

“Bring more chocolates.” Sherlock ordered and popped another in his mouth whole. His cheeks crinkled all the way from eyes to chin as he beamed at John.


	12. Brothers grim

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mycroft visits and a day at Appledore is put in motion.

As always, Mycroft visited without invitation or warning.

“Yes.” Sherlock said without opening his eyes or acknowledging Mycroft in any other fashion.

“Well, that’s refreshing. I shall draw a list of questions to which I have long hoped to be blessed with that response,” Mycroft said with a deep sigh as he lowered himself into Sherlock’s chair. “ Good god, what is that you are permeated with? The sillage is more overwhelming than your signature, Ode du Mortuary.”

“No idea what you are talking about. No to the rest, but yes, I will help you.” Sherlock opened his eyes and turned his head to look at his brother.

“What makes you think that it is your help I require? Perhaps I am here to simply inquire after your health.” Mycroft twisted his umbrella handle, finding the activity mesmerizing.

“I thought you were protecting him. It has come to my attention that that was not the case.”

“It is my battle, Sherlock. I don’t want you involved. My brother bleeding from extraneous holes, on the floor of his bedroom, was exactly the sort of vision I wished to prevent.” Mycroft said leaning his head on his fist.

“You have to learn the difference between goldfish and sharks.” Sherlock said thoughtfully.

“Yes. Well. It was a long time ago and I am wiser now. We have never gotten over that error and I am at some point going to have to resolve his position, once and for all. He is unfortunately far more devious than I once imagined. Things are in a delicate spot at the moment. I won’t allow another brother to be his chew toy.” Mycroft said with a deep sigh and an uncharacteristic slump deeper into the chair.

“Already in the works, I’m afraid.” Sherlock said softly.

“What on earth are you talking about?”

Sherlock smiled with sly pleasure, “If you won’t allow me to help you, perhaps you will be your normal meddling self and be so kind as to rescue your poor baby brother? It is your only hobby. Time to choose a side, brother dear.”

“Sherlock. You have been in hospital. How much trouble could you possibly have caused from there?”

“How does an invitation to Appledore for the purpose of high treason sound?” Sherlock murmured in innocent triumph.

Mycroft rolled his eyes exaggeratedly, “You have nothing with which to tempt him.” Mycroft’s face went from cool surety to sudden horrified understanding.

“Fairs fair, Mycroft. You sold me to both Jim and Aunt Liz. To save my life. Then to extract me, you left the ship without its rudder and returned to discover it overrun with pirates. You knew what the underground terrorist cell was up to all along. You didn’t need me. But you do now and instead of admitting it, you are being stubborn. I can help you, and you know it.” Sherlock said confidently to the ceiling.

“Perhaps I don’t want your help? Why would I?”

“If you were not there to protect me, how long do you estimate it would take for me to be found crammed into luggage and left in the tub to rot. Nobody would even discover me for ages.” Sherlock said as if it didn’t bother him in the least.

“Who would notice? Your flat always smells like that, though my honest opinion is that even your attempt at olfactory lavage has failed to compromise toward any improvement. The place is more offensive now, giving the impression of a morgue full of long expired French whores rather than the slightly less repugnant notes of a sodden crypt exhumation. You are quite adept at madly improvised escape when given the right circumstance. I imagine you would be most creative in evasive maneuvers well into middle-age,” Mycroft stated in his wandering phlegmatic style.

Sherlock smirked, “The treason for the season may be a bit dicey, but it’s fine. You can sit this one out and play scrabble with Mummy and hear all about how hard it was to keep track of their kit during their travels. Sip some punch and sing carols. John and I will improvise as best we can.”

Mycroft’s face darkened. “Oh, dear lord, just tell me what disaster you have planned this time. I would rather have my fingernails pulled then hear about the revolting dude ranch experience again.”

Sherlock raised his eyebrow and sat up. “How do you feel about Christmas naps?”  


	13. An apple a day

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Appledore and other things that were not seen.

 

On the steps of Appledore, on a perfect Christmas day, Sherlock changed the world for the better in cold blood. “Christ, Sherlock. Oh Christ…” was all John knew to say. He didn’t move to assist the still vibrating and spasming body as it sped through the process of death. All he could see were red lights dancing on Sherlock and tried to figure out how to keep his friend alive.

His only option was to not move, because any movement might cause them to fire and there was nothing he could do except resolve to go with him if they did. The thought made him sick with regret for Mary and his child but John knew if they fired, he would jump in the way and try to shield Sherlock at all costs. His mind was already preparing for this outcome as every happy moment with Sherlock flash through his brain on fast forward. He was so thankful that he’d made his peace with Mary.

It crossed his mind that Sherlock had not killed on the spur of the moment, but had planned to complete Mary’s mission all along. He had been too eager and far too concerned with making certain John said exactly the right words with exactly the right inflection. Sherlock knew he had virtually no chance of coming back today and he’d made sure John could go with him with a clear heart if that was the way the cards fell.

Somehow, John felt flattered and proud that Sherlock understood him and could foresee what he needed before John even knew himself. How could anyone ever imagine that Sherlock not only loved, but his affection went far beyond the spectrum of the definition of love? Sherlock was right about not needing to say the words. He would never have to tell John anything because words simply were not enough to express this. John’s heart soared and also crumpled within the same breath.  

He was relieved when they handcuffed them and got on the helicopter under heavy guard. Mycroft and Sherlock glared placidly at each other and John could even see how bad their situation actually was on the British Government’s heartbroken face as the two brothers read each other’s minds as always. Sherlock offered no apology but tears slowly crawled down his cheeks and he refused to meet John’s eyes.

John was released and demanded to speak to Mycroft but was simply hustled into a car and returned to the quiet home he’d left just a few hours ago. Upon entering, he found Sherlock’s father sandwiched between two women who sobbed and Billy Wiggins quietly working in the kitchen to save the remains of Christmas dinner. He looked apologetic and miserable as he quietly called the somber group to table. Mrs. Holmes prayed for the deliverance of both of her sons.

John stared at the food and was thankful that he had not been required to explain the sequence of the day’s events.   He ate mechanically and the food tasted like decadent sorrow. Nobody spoke of the empty places nor asked him to describe what he had seen. Mary kept meeting his eyes, her face filled with guilt and pity. Directly after dinner she handed him a tumbler half filled with whiskey and they watched the fire, casting yearning glances at the lonely violin tucked in the open case by the tree.

They closed the door to the guest room and held each other. John kissed her head as she broke down again. “He will go to prison. For the rest of his life. He won’t last long though, will he?” She finally whispered.

“If he survives a month, I will be astounded.” John replied with numb resolve.

“I can’t force myself to accept this. He should have just…I feel so horrible. I failed everyone, all because…” Mary didn’t finish the thought.

“I should have done it myself. Maybe it was me who failed,” John said, his throat raspy and raw.

“Mycroft won’t let this happen…” Mary surmised hopefully.

“You didn’t see him. He was shattered. Utterly lost and I can honestly say, if the man ever had something that functioned as a heart, I watched it die on the helicopter ride. He got old right before my eyes.” John told her quietly.

“And Sherlock?”

“He said to give you his love and to tell you that you are safe now. I thought they were going to shoot him any second and I think he thought that as well. He never said another word, but he cried all the way to hell, or whatever euphemism they use for that place. Never said another word.” John repeated, glad the room was dark and she couldn’t see his own eyes leaking freely.

Mary was quiet then leaned up and spoke with hesitation, “I have a friend. She might help. She is very close to this and will probably be on our side anyway, but I will put in a good word. Can’t hurt.”

“I am sure Lady Smallwood has been made aware,” He replied softly.

“Oh. How in the world did you find that out?” she sat up looking at him in the darkness.

He smiled and said kindly, “Tragic about her husband. I get the impression that that can be attributed to this mess too. You wear the same perfume. I have learned a few tricks from his nibs.”

“Obviously you have. It’s a bit sexy, actually.” She said genuinely impressed.

“I know.” John said just to make her smile.

Weeks went by and no word was said of Sherlock. John left dozens of messages with Mycroft but got no response. Conflicting stories ran, obviously faked reports of unknown intruders and the murder of the larger than life newspaper billionaire, killed in his home on Christmas. It was eventually reported as indisputably ruled suicide and dozens of supposed employees paraded a marathon of tragic disappointments that supported this fabrication. Still, Sherlock’s fate was unknown.

It was Mary who finally gave John the news. “He’s fine. Driving Mycroft insane and making trouble for everyone who is responsible for keeping him contained. Asks about you every day. There are negotiations to put him back in the field. It is exile and it is a punishment. I’m sorry. It isn’t great news, but…”

“Oh, thank God.” John said in pure relief, “Anything is better than thinking of him rotting in a cell. I mean, yes, it still isn’t ideal, but maybe someday, he can come home. It’s better than nothing, or dead, right?”

He missed the shadow in Mary’s smile as she agreed and hugged John. “Right. He won’t let you down there. He came back, before. He’s Sherlock.”

“Maybe I should grow a full beard this time. That ought to hurry him along. Prefers his doctors clean shaven my back side,” John joked.

A few days later a text from Mycroft arrived giving a time and date with a cryptic, ‘Your presence has been requested? May I assume you will make yourself and your lovely wife available?’

John replied eagerly to the affirmative. The day before, he dropped by unannounced and briefly explained all that had taken place to keep Sherlock from a fate worse than death. John could tell there was more that was not being conveyed and caught a look passing between Mycroft and Mary that he didn’t understand.

“What is it? What are you not saying? It’s not all good is it?” John demanded.

Mycroft sighed, “I would be remiss to allow you to believe he will be sent to Disney, John. This type of work can become treacherous in the blink of an eye. You must be realistic and attempt some preparation for the foreseeable possibility that his seeming indestructibility is not, in fact, immortality . I do not wish to see you in the same level of despair as his loss put you before.”

“So it’s no walk in the park. I’m not stupid, here. The two of us had a few situations that could have ended a lot less favorably. It’s not the same, you know. Doing something you love, something that matters and fate coming to call. That is sad, sure, but not on the same level as thinking you are so unimportant that the end of your existence is all you have left that matters. You waded in to bring him back last time. That actually did mean something to him, in case you missed the important part with all the posing the two of you have to put on for show. If it had been me who pulled the trigger, my body would already be mulching some London formal garden, the bits chopped so tiny nobody would ever find a tooth. I get it, Mycroft. I do. I think I speak for my very talented wife as well, when I say that should you ever need to call upon us, once the baby has arrived, that there is no call the two of us would not answer on his behalf.”

Mary jumped in and nodding, “As soon as I am eating for one again, what John is trying to say is that, we owe him and we are family. Always. You know what I can do. You know John should never be underestimated and we will go to any length to protect what is ours.”

Mycroft looked between them a smug smile curled his thin lips. “I will convey your regards to my brother. I am certain he will find something to invent inappropriate and derisive comments with which to embarrass me for my trouble, but I shall pass on the sentiment for the pleasure of his annoyance at the effort it will require him to pretend he does not care.”

John laughed and offered to refill Mycroft’s glass with the expensive whiskey he had bought John for some occasion he deemed within his boundary of proper behavior. Mycroft sipped delicately and Mary studied him closely but seemed satisfied.

“I wish I knew what you were up to, Mr. Holmes.” She whispered when John left the room.

Mycroft’s eyebrows rose in feigned innocent surprise, “You and a considerable contingent of the western world, my dear Mrs. Watson.”

Mary smiled and Mycroft saluted her with his raised glass.

Once the British Government had left the flat, Mary turned to John and asked, “He is a lot nicer than he pretends to be, you know. I think he’s definitely one of the good guys, don’t you?”

“Mycroft?” John picked up her tea and made a show of sniffing it carefully then tasting it to see if it was drugged. Mary slugged him in the shoulder and giggled. “Just checking.” He added, mostly intending it as humor.


	14. Fare thee well

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> We know what was said between Sherlock and John. This is what may have been said on the other end of the plane,

While John stood near the nose of the Cessna, begging Sherlock with his eyes, not to say what he seemed about to blurt out, Mary had her head bent to Mycroft’s ear. “I know what this means, you do realize? Don’t tell John. We both know what this is, don’t we Mycroft Holmes? As soon as this baby is here, you send me in to extract Sherlock. Will that be in time? Can he survive three weeks?”

Mycroft glanced at his brother and John Watson. “I am sorry. Your offer is very kind, but I am afraid that that option is simply not an option. They were very clear on certain key points of his penalty. I cannot intervene in any way or my resignation will be rather swift and quite probably messy. Or it shall be if I have more than five minutes advanced notice. I am opposed by those of an oddly narcissistic and inexperienced moral principal. We shall see what it will require for them to broaden their perspective. Thank you for the offer, but please do realize that were I to be responsible for getting his wife killed, what force on earth do you imagine would ever protect me from your husband?” He winked at her.

She rode his twists from anger and landed on shared amusement at his last point. “He is a sweet man of many hidden charms.”

“Look at those two. Have you ever seen anything so obvious?” Mycroft asked conspiratorially.

Mary smiled. “Besotted fools. Never even kissed,” she agreed.

Mycroft’s eyebrow rose in mock disapproval. “Oh for God’s sake, all of this trouble to give them a last moment and they are shaking hands. I don’t know why I bother to inconvenience myself.”

Mary snickered and shushed Mycroft. “Please forgive me. For all the harm I have caused?”

Mycroft looked at her in perplexed astonishment. “Never mind that, my dear. Nothing I have not contemplated myself on a regular basis since he attained the ripe age of seven. I am thankful he gave up on the career choice of piracy, though his delusions that he's a dragon slayer lead to never-ending discommodious position. He’s a rubbish little brother, you know.” His smile was placid but his eyes danced merrily.

“No he’s not. Besides, what is a dragon slayer, without his Wizard?” Mary murmured and slipped her arm into his looking up at him with genuine affection.

Mycroft blushed and bowed to her almost Imperceptivity to anyone not watching closely. Anthea was so moved she looked up from her blackberry and beamed at Mary approvingly.  

Sherlock’s face was beginning to blotch as he swiftly boarded the Citation III . Mary felt slightly sick that she might honestly never see him again. She approached John and took his hand. Johns face was stoic and his posture was stiff. She actually connected the dots and realized he was standing at full military attention, sending his friend off with the highest honor he could bestow.

She didn’t drop his hand or speak, but in all the ways that mattered to John, she could see in his face that this was far bigger than a peck on the cheek or a sappy hug. John was handing Sherlock the honor he would only show someone he considered his commander.

As the plane banked for final assent. John took a deep breath. Relaxed and glanced at her, slightly embarrassed.

“Did he say it to you finally? He was really looking peculiar as he got on the plane,” She asked quietly.

“He told me ‘Sherlock is actually a girl’s name.’ and he said the game is never over,” he said with a smirk.

“Oh my god.” Mary said with a sympathetic grin.

“I don’t ever want to hear him say it. Not ever.” John said softly. He didn’t wait for the question, he explained, “If Sherlock ever says it to me, I will know that I will never see him again. I will know he’s about to die or I am. It will be Vatican cameos and it means he has no more chances to show me. “

Mary started to reply when Mycroft’s angry voice drew her attention, “That is simply not possible!”

Mary watched the plane land and thought of all the stories John had told her about Moriarty. John was focused on the plane waiting for Sherlock to come down the stairs. John’s broad smile faltered for a split second when John realized that Sherlock did not emerge. She doubted that he had broken down out of joy at his timely return. They waited, then without discussion all seemed to agree to board the plane.

Mary sniffed the air for something that was missing. They hadn’t dumped any fuel to land. It left two possibilities. For a three hour flight, they hoped to purchase fuel at a discount at the destination or the plane had never been intended to fly very far. Sherlock was too upset to be behind this. He had looked positively ill as he'd turned to duck into the cabin. Maybe John couldn't see, but she knew Sherlock was aware of his brief expected life span.

Moriarty was dead according to Sherlock, John and Mycroft. It was not a live picture, but a looped animation. Somebody was faking this.

Did he have a second in command? Hadn’t Sherlock, spent two years tracking them down? Moriarty was a businessman not a terrorist. One didn’t declare that sort of business newly reopened and under new management. All that did was invite people to investigate and insist on taxing your ill-gotten gains.

Other than Sherlock’s immediate return, what purpose would anyone have to scare London half to death? Mycroft was speaking to one important person after another, calmly and with great care in his wording, but he was not precisely angry. She had seen his jaw work in anger even as his face and voice had seemed placid. The micro expressions he was exhibiting did not show distress but satisfaction and relaxed calm. He was not turning his charm on and off, barking orders one moment and flipping the charisma switch the next. Mycroft was showing off.

Sherlock and John would be quickly brainstorming, joking like little boys and in general in their manic energy mode whilst ignoring the achingly adoring looks they passed each other every few seconds and Mary knew she would be stood to the side. They always forgot about her but as she joined them at the foot of the stairs, she slowly and unobtrusively began taking it all in.

She studied Mycroft carefully and it dawned on her that there was wizard in the wind.

 

                                                                                                        The game is still on...

________________________________________________________

 

_Be he alive or be he dead - Somehow Moriarty's timing is on Mycroft's head.  This was a lot of fun to write and I hope you enjoyed it - thanks for the Kudos and comments!  Let me know what you think._


	15. The vow - The Abominable Return

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> First of all, SPOILERS – SPOILERS If you have not seen the Special – SPOILERS you should not read this at all – SPOILERS you will not understand it anyway.  
> SPOILERS SPOILERS SPOILERS SPOILERS SPOILERS SPOILERS

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So the other bit is I don’t own Sherlock – I just scribble this stuff to get it out of my head-- purely recreational. Yadda yadda – I mean no offence but do not copy or use this for any purposes without my permission because I don’t want to offend the real people who make this fantastic show in any way. Yes – I know – you all pretty much think I am way too soft on Mary – but I adore her – yep still mad at her for Shooting the Sherlock – but Nobody but Amanda A could have pulled off this duplicitous character and made us LOVE her as well as she did …so I am not as easily pulled into the get rid of Mary to make Johnlock happen thing. I like complicated. 
> 
> Welp… what this section is about is SPOILERS. We all saw what happened in Sherlock’s mind. This is my version of what goes on in reality. Sherlock is gorked out of his skin – how did that look from the other side? Now I pull heavily from the script – but first of all I have only seen it 3 times and I did the best I could – also some of it I have intentionally warped so that what he and John are saying can meld together. Secondly - Sherlock is an unreliable witness and so some of it has done some timey-whimey shifting. Let me know if you think it works.  
> Third – I humbly confess that I would still do Fat Mycroft. My unholy fangirl obsession has twisted me for all time. This is the person you are reading – keep that in mind – and take my ramblings with a pound of salt.

A vow – The abominable return

 

John couldn’t contain his joy any longer. Whatever was keeping the git from exiting the plane would have to wait whilst John poured his relief out to his friend. 

Was he mad to be so chuffed that the evil bastard who had wrecked their lives could still be out there playing games? Certainly it could be the worst thing he could possibly think of happening except for just one. 

Sherlock dying of torture in the bowels of some lost hell because he’d sacrificed everything to keep Mary safe for him. John watching the sky for a plane that could never come back rated above the scope of mad bastardly zombie spiders on the loose.   'The enemy you know' felt like Christmas to John.

Oh he’d pulled it off, playing the part of Captian/Doctor Watson who stands in the face of death and flips the tosser off. He’d managed with a joke and a smile, but as John watched his best friend and someone he loved just as much as Mary and his kicking bump of a daughter fly away to be turned into meat for the political posing of the masters of the country, John had felt the fog just over the horizon.

He was torn between the fact that he could have done it and saved Sherlock and the fact that Sherlock had murdered an unarmed man in cold blood. John had done the same thing technically but he could at least use the excuse of the fake gun Jefferson Hope was holding.  They should have thanked him because Magnussen was a despicable bastard and it was in defense of Mary but none of that could ever be brought into the light of day, so John was stuck in this weird guilty angry fog with no direction other than his wife. 

John had fought the damp nasty vapor of sorrow all his life and most of his life-choices had been made just trying to stay ahead of the stuff. He had never been closer to letting it get him, than when Sherlock was dead.  The swirling mist had him and he could see nothing.  When he’d come back from the war, Sherlock had led him out of the fog of his broken life.  But when Sherlock died, he had not fought at all, hell, he’d welcomed it. 

Mary had found him and called the sun. She had not been completely successful, but she’d at least made the future visible and it was better than wandering blind. 

She nearly had dumped him right back into the mist with a bullet, but since Christmas day, she had been the only light he could see and she had proved that she was vital to his equilibrium. She had kept him positive…well…positive-ish, that somehow this would all work out. 

God, he had cried, as if his friend were already dead again and she’d fed him warm bread and hope. He’d only had the strength to say goodbye because she’d made him believe that with or without Mycroft’s bloody help, that they would find a way.  She promised him that she would do whatever it took to bring Sherlock home.  Even if it meant using her rather large set of skills to do it against all reason.

He’d believed Mary and now she’d proven that she’d known what she was talking about.   Sherlock was safe and here and …where the sodding hell was he?  Dawdling like the King of England on the ruddy plane.  Of course he was, the poncy toff. 

John bounded up the steps and there he was, off in his mind palace, oblivious to the fact that John had just shed the weight of the planet Jupiter off his shoulders.  

They were all making jokes when Mary frowned and asked, “What’s wrong with him?”

John scoffed and explained. He’d seen this before.

Sherlock mumbled gibberish.

“No, of course we don't, you're not making any sense, Sherlock,” Mary chastised.

Mary and Mycroft bent closer and still John didn’t see. He was too happy and no, this simply could not be happening.  Sherlock wouldn’t do that. They had to be wrong.  He would not do this to John.  He loved him and he would not…

“More to the point, what have YOU been doing? “ Mycroft said, meaning more than the few words he spoke.

John is baffled.

“I've been in my Mind Palace, of course.” Sherlock mumbles, clearly thick of tongue.

Mary looks up from his phone, “You've been reading John's blog. The story of how you met.”

John is touched by this for some reason and Sherlock is telling him how it helps to see himself through Johns eyes. John smiles, flattered. _If you really saw yourself through my eyes you would probably laugh at me. I am mad about you.  Imagining life without you is the worst thing in the world._

“Do you really think anyone is believing you? “ Mycroft chides.

“No, he can do this, I've seen it. The Mind Palace, it's like a whole world in his head,” John scoffed at Mycroft’s jump to the wrong conclusion. 

“I know what it can do and I know what it most certainly cannot. Did you make a list? “

“Stop this! Just stop it! Did you make a list? Everything, Sherlock. Everything you've taken.”

“No, it's not that, he goes into a sort of trance. I've seen him do it.”

“ The list, Sherlock? Where is the list?” Mycroft growled.

Sherlock produced a piece of paper and handed it to Mycroft. Mycroft sighed and handed it to John as he explained their agreement.

John continued to defend him. “He couldn’t have taken all of this in the last five minutes.”

“He was high when he got on the bloody plane,” Mycroft said as if Jupiter had just settled onto his own shoulders.

Mary seemed distracted by the phone but pipped in, “He didn’t look it.”

“Nobody deceives like an addict.”

 

John read the dosages and the cocktail of substances. It was impossible.  Sherlock couldn’t have possibly gotten ahold of all of this. John couldn’t have gotten ahold of it.  Beyond that, no human could survive this kind of mixture short of long term hospice patients. 

Oh God. “Sherlock.  This could kill you! You could die!” John stated the obvious just as his own heart sputtered and threatened to stop all together. 

Sherlock muttered excuses then became completely unresponsive.

All John could do was fall into Doctor mode. Mary was already rattling off all she could about his stats with no proper equipment and nothing to counter the mess raging through Sherlock at the moment. 

Sherlock began to babbled again. John was torn whether they should transport him straight to hospital.  Mary and Mycroft were against it. 

“We have oxygen here and I can get you anything you require. I don’t think he is in any actual danger provided we keep his airway clear and he remains semi-conscious.  I have actually seen him much worse.  I think we should just let him ride it out and …”Mycroft stated. 

John finally agreed, holding the list and running all possible scenarios through his head as he tuned out all but the man before him.

_“..High before he got on the plane. “_

_“As this will probably be the last time John and I speak…”_

_“I have always meant to tell you…”_

_“Sherlock is a girl’s name.”_

_“We wouldn’t do that to John Watson…”_

John zoned out, unable to follow along, eyes focused on Sherlock but far away from the Citation cabin.

 

 

They would have been home when the call would have come. Mycroft would have spoken to Mary—

John walked out of the shower, feeling slightly better but still as if the world had ended and he was the only person who realised it. He found Mary sitting with tears ruining her mascara and he smiled at her.  She had been the strong one the past few weeks, but now that it was all over, she would cry.

“He is going to be fine, Mary,” He said indulgently.

“Oh, John. I’m so sorry.”

She would have to be the one to tell him. “Sherlock didn’t make it to…”

“The plane went down? A bloody bomb…I knew it.”  John would say, never dreaming that she would be about to tell him the thing this man in front of him had possibly intended.  A bomb indeed.  A bomb to destroy the mind palace never concerned that the transport would follow. 

 

 

John sat down next to Sherlock and took his hand. Sherlock offered no notice or complaint. 

He was high when he got on the plane.

All his rambling about the bride and Moritarty was just window dressing. He had not known of the broadcast when he’d injected and swallowed his list.

Lies.

Again.

 _He had no intention of living._ John took a deep breath and held it _. I would have followed you, you selfish … no, not really…wrong question.  The bride had consumption.  A death sentence.  She wanted to die on her own terms. Make it count.  How would this have counted?_  

_He’d just spent time in solitary for causing havoc and what did he do there? Drugs are not impossible to get in prison.  He’d lost hope?_

_He thought I would just go on to live happily ever after and what difference would six months of pain and loneliness make? Would I have done otherwise in his shoes?  Do I have any right to judge?_

_How do I fix this? How do I fix my friend?  I can’t lose him.  Would I begrudge him a quick death if I knew he would suffer otherwise?  They don’t see him.  No, I won’t resent him this plan.  I may have helped him if I knew for a fact what tomorrow would have been for him._

_“…_ recently married a man of a seemingly kindly disposition, who has now abandoned you for an unsavoury companion of dubious morals”

“What is he saying?” Mary asked looking up from Sherlock's phone.

“I don’t know. Just gibberish,” John replied with a small grin.  He should record this for Lestrade.  Maybe it’s the blackmail that keeps him clean?

Mycroft and Mary were not paying attention. They were bored of watching Sherlock twitch and mumble.  John leaned closer and pulled Sherlock to him.  Sherlock seemed to relax and settle, nuzzling into John’s neck.  He began to speak directly into John’s ear. 

John began to respond in kind. He closed his eyes and tried to follow as best he could.  Of course he was angry with him, but John knew his anger was not what Sherlock needed right now.  He had to be his conductor.  Sherlock had to know John was there, that his conductor of light would not give up on him. 

Mary continued her perusal of Sherlock’s phone. Mycroft made calls and spoke to whomever it was he called to make the world shake just as if he were sitting behind his desk at the Diogenes Club.

John didn’t understand all Sherlock said, but he felt himself drifting further from now and in some limited way, he followed Sherlock into a horse drawn carriage and tasted a bitter Cavendish pipe tobacco on the tip of his tongue.

“Which was it, Morphine or cocaine?” John asked. He wondered which of those two things got Sherlock started again because he couldn’t figure out if it was Magnussen or his hospital stay. He didn’t expect an actual answer but both had been on the list.  

“Moriarty was here.” Sherlock told him.

“You haven’t moved.” John explained.

“Cocaine. A seven percent solution. Would you like to try it?” Sherlock said with a smirk. Even when off his head he loved to provoke John.

“No.” John cleared his throat, refusing to let his anger win. “But I would like to find every ounce you have in your possession and pour it out the window.”

Sherlock squeezed John’s hand and replied, “Then I should be inclined to stop you.”

“Then I would have to remind you, quite forcibly, which of us is a soldier and which of us is a drug addict?” John replied with a chuckle. Sherlock was lost in his palace and yet John could still reach him in some way. 

“You're not a soldier, you are a doctor. My doctor.” Sherlock murmured.

“I'm an army doctor, which means I could break every bone in your body while naming them.” John reminded him.

Sherlock grunted an almost laugh before saying, “You allow emotions to cloud your judgement.”

“You promised me. You promised you would not leave me on purpose again.  That it was a one off…the drugs…you said it was only for the case.  You promised me, Sherlock, and now…this.” John admonished as gently as he could.

“I said that in one of your stories.” Sherlock told him.

John adjusted Sherlock’s head and stroked his hair to soothe his words, “Listen, I am happy to play the fool for you. I will run along behind you like some half-wit.  If that’s what you need, I will do it.  I would do anything…anything at all, in my power, to make you look clever.  But dear God above, you will hold yourself to a higher standard. “

Sherlock opened one eye slightly and asked, “Why?”

John sniffed trying to keep the tears at bay. “Because…people…need you to.”

“Your idiot stories.” Sherlock closed his eye again.

John held him tighter and agreed, “Yes. For my stories about my idiot. You can’t take him away from me…because the stories are not enough.”

“Telegrams. Mary is in danger.” Sherlock whispered. “Not a moment to lose..”

“Is this the cocaine talking?” John asked. “What sort of danger could Mary possibly be in? We are all friends here.” John couldn’t help but let his eye wonder between Mycroft and Mary as they chatted, heads together. 

“I can try using the MI5 computer archives…it might save you time…”Mycroft said with a snobbish pride.

“Yep – that’s where I am looking,” Mary said without a blink.

Mycroft swallowed and recovered. “What do you think of MI5 security?”

“I Think it would be a good idea,” Mary replied keeping her smirk in check.  

Sherlock murmured, “What an excellent choice of wife.”

“Mary. Heart of the conspiracy,” Sherlock continues to speak but it is unintelligible.

“Stay with me. I’m losing you.  God. Where are you? Come on Sherlock.”

“De-sanctified church.” Sherlock admitted with a restless tone.

“A what?”

“John? Is he alright?” Mary suddenly asks focused on her husband and his snuggly friend.

“He will be, but I don’t know where he is. I am just trying to keep him calm He’s afraid you are in danger.  I am playing along.  I don’t mean to neglect you.  I don’t want to lose you –“

“Well, your’re the one that moved out.” Sherlock said distinctly.

“I was talking to Mary?” John fired back.

Sherlock whispered loud enough for everyone to hear, “She’s working for Mycroft. Ever noticed she’s very skilled for a nurse.”

“John knows what a nurse is capable of. When did you figure it out?” Mary teased.

“Only now, I’m afraid,” Sherlock replied. “She’s spying on me. Isn’t she?”

Mary smiled fondly at them both. “Someone has to keep track of you, Sherlock. Must be hard being the slow little brother.”

Mycroft smirked and cleared his throat. He rose from his seat and excused himself before exiting the plane.  The stewardess offered Mary a drink and she asked for the loo, leaving John and Sherlock to carry on.

“Time I sped up then,” Sherlock said. “Enough chatter. Need to concentrate.”

John sipped the drink he had been offered and said kindly, “Yes. Alright. What’s this all about then?”

“What do they want to accomplish?” Sherlock asked shaking his head.

“Why don’t we go find out?” John indulged.

“Sorry I could never resist a Gong or a touch of the dramatic.” Sherlock confessed.

“I’d never have guessed.” John soothed, pressing a secret kiss to his friend’s forehead and settling in for however long it took for Sherlock’s body to process the drugs. He was out of his mind and yet he was still Sherlock. 

Sherlock babbled nonstop for almost half an hour. John followed as best he could.

“It's called Pepper's Ghost. 'A simple reflection in glass of a living, breathing person. That’s all I am now. You see?  A living breathing ghost. A trick. Just a magic trick.”

“There is no ghost. You are not a ghost. “ John assures him.

“If one disregards the ghost, it only leaves one suspect. But one aspect doesn’t make sense. Why engage me to prevent a murder you intended to commit?”  Sherlock questions.  “No. Not you. Not you.” Sherlock becomes more agitated.

“I haven’t. This isn’t real, Sherlock, It is all in your mind. None of it is real.  Criminal masterminds don’t really have gongs or special outfits.  Let’s be serious.” John tries for humor .

Sherlock pulls away from John. “What the hell is going on?”

“Think. Look around. Is it silly enough for you? Gothic churches?  Costumes? Is it all mad enough yet?  Do you see?  It isn’t real. None of it is real.  This is all in your mind.”  John’s voice edges toward panic.  Sherlock’s eyes are wide open and he is not comprehending any of his surroundings. 

Sherlock’s eyes are wild.

“You are dreaming.” John said with all the calm he could.

Mary is standing over them now alert and assessing. “Is he dreaming?  Because I think he is seizing.  Yep. There he goes.” 

Sherlock’s eyes roll back in his head and he goes ridged.

John looked at his watch automatically. “Let’s get him to the bunk.”  Mary took his feet, John his shoulders and they moved him as a unit.  Mycroft folded the bunk down.  They had just settled him and checked for anything that could do him injury when the convulsions began.  Mary and John didn’t attempt to restrain him, but formed a protective cocoon between Sherlock’s convulsing limbs and any hard surfaces.

“Should I call an ambulance? Is he dying?” Mycroft questioned. 

Mary stood and put her arm around him. “We’ll see to him.  It is just a seizure.  Looks worse than it probably is.  You have the stewardess get us some more blankets and something…well…he may vomit.  Save the carpet?”

Mycroft nodded. “I can’t lose him. You understand?”

“We will take good—“

Mycroft looks rather helpless as he desperately told Sherlock, “I’m not angry, Sherlock. I will be there for you.  I was there last time.  I will always be there for you.”

Mary bit her lip. “Trust us?  This is what we do, Mycroft.  Well, when we aren’t running after our favorite hobby?  Actual daylight, grown up jobs?”

Mycroft became visibly steadier. “Yes. Of course.  Remarkable.”

“Good. Off you go then.  Get us that oxygen too.” 

Mary and John both speak to Sherlock in soothing calm voices as he continues to thrash. “Time?  He’s coming out of it.  That’s right, love.  You are fine. “  She studies him.  “Yep, here we are. Into the bucket, Sherlock. “

John rolled Sherlock to the side and Mary guided his head as his stomach contents filled the air with a foul odor. Mycroft stepped out for fresh air. 

“He’s coming round. If you want to…try not to upset him?” John informed Mycroft as he stood on the steps of the plane. John ducked back inside and Mycroft followed. 

“And there he is. Thought we'd lost you for a moment. May I just check? Is this what you mean by ‘controlled usage’?"

“Mycroft” John and Mary said together with equal exasperation.

“I need to know where she was buried.” Sherlock moans.

 “What, 120 years ago?” Mycroft asked rolling his eyes in disgust.

 “Yes.” Sherlock tells them.

“ That would take weeks to find, if those records even exists. Even with my resources—“

 “Got it.”

“ I don't get it, how is this relevant?” John addresses the question to Mycroft and Mary to see if either of them actually think this is important.

“ I need to know I was right, then I'll be sure.”

“ You mean how Moriarty did it? Yes. But none of that really happened, it was in your head,” John reminds him.

“ My investigation was the fantasy, the crime happened exactly as I explained.” Sherlock said.

“ The stone was erected by a group of her friends.” Mary feeds with a distracted tone.

“The conspirators had someone on the inside. They found a body, just like Molly Hooper found a body for me, when... Yeah, well, we don't need to go into all that again, do we?” Sherlock pulls a bottle of pills from his pocket and is straining to remove the cap when John snatches them from his hand.

“ You're not seriously going to do this?” John waves the bottle in front of Sherlock’s face mortified that he would even consider self-medicating after a seizure.

“ It's why we came here. I need to know. That is how I get back. I need to!” Sherlock tries to take the pills back from John.

John hands them to Mycroft and hisses at Sherlock, “ Spoken like an addict.”

“ This is important to me!” Sherlock tries to get up but he’s too weak. He continues to flail about as if fighting to reach his bottle of pills.

 John has had it with coddling Sherlock. “No, this is you needing a fix. It is not happening.”

“ John...”Sherlock sounds so pathetic and desperate as if his friend is betraying him.

John takes a deep breath and tries to remain calm but there is steel in his tone, “ Moriarty's back. We have a case! We have a real-life problem …right now.”

“ Getting to that, it's next on the list. Just let me do this. “ Sherlock throws himself back in frustration.

“No, everyone always lets you do whatever you want. That's how you got in this state!”

“ John, please...”

“ I'm not playing this time, Sherlock. Not anymore! When you are ready to go to work, give me a call. I need some air.”

To Mycroft he said, “ I'm taking Mary home. She’s tired and…”

 “You're what?” Mary asked, humorously dangerous.

John grins but is still firm, “ Mary's taking me home. Because she needs to eat and her ankles are swelling. Bit not good.  We are too close to have you take chances at this stage. “

 Mary blushes, basking in John’s actual concern. “Better.”

To Mycroft he quietly says, “I will be back. It’s just, her due date is so close and her age is a factor.  She won’t say but this is very difficult on her.  She needs rest right now.”

“Of course. What should I do if he has another…”

“Nothing. Time it, keep him from hurting himself. Don’t restrain him. If it lasts more than five minutes then do call an ambulance, but I will be back in less than an hour.”  John said.

“John. I don’t want to go.  I can’t.  I will put my feet up here and Mycroft will order us Chinese?”

“Sodium?” John reproves.

Mary scrunches her face up and agrees. “I am starving.”

“I will have a fresh salad made to tide you over and order something appropriate?” Mycroft offers.

John consents. “Yeah.  Well that is settled.  He seems down for the count at the moment.  You need to get off your feet. Please?”

John rubs Mary’s feet and ankles as she reclines in the overstuffed seats. They chat pleasantly only interrupted by an occasional moan from Sherlock. 

“He won’t remember any of this. He never does.” Mycroft said with annoyance. 

“You are a good big brother, Mycroft” Mary adds.

“Fat lot of good it does. He barely tolerates me.  If I told him I were dying, he would place bets on the day.”

“You were a rubbish big brother.” John tosses out there. “Don’t worry, we all are. I was dreadful to Harry. Still am in some ways.  Though I didn’t tell her that she was going to be blown away by the terrible east wind if she didn’t do what I wanted.  That was bloody genius.  Cruel as all hell, but genius.“ 

Mycroft smiled. “I am surprised he told you of that.  It was a long time ago.  Uncle Rudy told it to me.  I always liked Uncle Rudy.  He was a lot like Sherlock, Mad as a bag of ferrets but all dashing glamor and inappropriate humor.  I miss him.”

“What happened to him?” Mary inquires.

Mycroft smiles and his eyes become slightly misty as he swallows and takes a sip of his brandy. “The east wind. It got him in the end. Family business – it is our curse. It gets us all. Doesn’t it? He tried to protect us. He and my brother tried so hard.”

“Sherlock?” John asks in confusion.

“No.” Mycroft said with a distant stare.  “Not Sherlock.  The other one.  Our very own lost boy.  The best of the three of us.  And the worst. “ Mycroft shudders and seems to come back to himself. “Dear Lord, Apologies.  That was completely inappropriate.”

“Wait. You and Sherlock …have a brother?” John asked, dumbfounded.

“Shh. Please.  Never ever mention him to…”he nods toward the back of the plane.  “You must swear to me, John.  It will drive him to…worse than this.  Sherrinford was everything to Sherlock.  The action man I broke, if you will.”

John tilts his head. _Nicked his smurfs? Broke his action man?_   

“Did you break him? Did you make him like this?” John challenges quietly.

Mycroft takes a deep breath and holds it before admitting, “I was not responsible, but I missed an obvious deduction. I was distracted by sentiment.  I broke both of them in different ways. He made himself like this.”

John nodded. “Ahhh. So that’s why?  All of this?  Your worry about him…constantly?  The inappropriate cameras…the kidnapping his friends?  It’s not about him?  It is because you are afraid you will miss something … again?  Have you missed something?  Like Moriarty’s body?”

Mycroft glares at John, “You have no right—“

Mary chimed in, “Yes he does. You move people like chess pieces and he’s not a chess piece.  He’s your brother.  You can’t put us on the board and turn out the lights because John and I will not play by the rules. Neither does Sherlock.  You know that.  You’ve seen that.  If you want our help and I assume this concave of people are the closest thing you have to a circle of trust and I am on double secret probation …But if you want us,  you have to give us a map?  We can’t be left to guess then be blamed when all hell breaks loose?”

“Why would I trust you, of all people?” Mycroft asks with a smarmy curl to his lip.

Mary smiles sweetly and turns Sherlock’s phone toward Mycroft. On the screen is the file of Sherrinford Holmes.  “Because you don’t really have a choice and because you already do.”

Mycroft’s jaw tenses and he eyes John hoping for some support.

John grins with pride and shakes his head. “She likes gadgets.  Taught me how to use a hashtag yesterday.  Feeling a sudden urge to watch ‘Snakes on a Plane’ for some reason.”

The food is delivered as Sherlock begins mumbling again. “ He's right, you know. So what if he's right?! He's always right, it's boring! Will you help me? Cherchez la femme. I always knew I could count on you, Lestrade. John has abandoned me, you know.  Again.” 

The three of them eat and afternoon settles.

Mary curls up and her eyes drift shut. John needs to move or he will be joining her. 

John goes back to check on Sherlock and finds him struggling. “This? I am still not awake am I?  Reichenbach…”

  “You are too deep Sherlock.  You are way too deep.” John tells him.

“I am about to die. Alone.  It is always that way.  He’s already dead but he will take me with him.  It can’t end any other way.” Sherlock twists.

“Congratulations , you will be the first man in history to be buried in his own Mind Palace, “ Mycroft offers as explanation.

John glares at him. “A shade dramatic? Don’t you think?”

“ Not at all. Look at us?” Mycroft answers John but continues to deduce Sherlock.

Sherlock sits up and screams at Mycroft, “ What are you?”

“ You know what I am. I'm your brother, “ Mycroft sighs.

“Professor Moriarty. The Napoleon of Crime. Moriarty's dead! But he’s right here.”

“ Only in your mind, Sherlock. You are keeping him alive. You call your brain a hard drive. Well, say hello to the virus. You must kill the virus, Sherlock.  You must do this.  He makes you weak.” Mycroft instructs. 

“ This is how we end, you and I. Always here, always together. You have a magnificent brain, Professor Moriarty. I admire it. I concede it may even be the equal of my own. But when it comes to the matter of unarmed combat on the edge of a precipice... you are going in the water, short-arse.” Sherlock’s delusions begin to affect him physically.  His airway is closing and he is gasping for air. John holds him down at first, takes a clever punch to the side of his head, calls his name repeatedly as Sherlock begins turning blue. 

John shakes his head. “There is no obstruction, but I am losing him?  It’s all in his mind. “  without thinking John pulls his gun from the back of his trousers, where it is usually tucked.  

He finds Mycroft’s umbrella pointed at him and looks up to see pure death on his face.  John mouths the words ‘trust me’ to him and bends to Sherlock’s ear and dramatically cocks the gun.  He says in a low, dangerous voice, “Uhhhem. Professor, if you wouldn't mind stepping away from my friend, I do believe he finds your attention a shade annoying.”

Sherlock takes a deep noisy breath. “John.  You are here? There are two of us?” 

“There are always two of us. The two of us against the rest of the world?  Don’t you read the blog?  On your knees, Professor.  Hands behind your head.”

Sherlock grins, “Thank you, John.”

“Since when do you call me, John in your head?”

Sherlock smirks, “You’d be surprised.”

“ No, I wouldn't. Time you woke up, Sherlock. I'm a story-teller, I know when I'm in one.” John said sounding as mad as Sherlock but he’s still breathing and getting more calm by the second.

“ Of course. Of course you do, John.”

John blushes as he asks. “So what's he like? The other me in the other place?”

“ Smarter than he looks.” Sherlock said with pure happiness.

 “Pretty damn smart, then,” John throws back just to see what Sherlock will say.  John knows he’s the lag-behind in the room most of the time in present company, but he did just talk his friend out of asphyxiating himself in his own damned mind palace. He figured it out when they could not.  He’s not ashamed of how very pleased with himself he is at the moment. 

 “Pretty damn smart,“ Sherlock agrees and turns toward John as if seeking warmth. 

‘Ugh, why don't the two of you just elope, for God's sake?” Mycroft said in revulsion.

“ Impertinent.”

 “Offensive.”

 John stands and waves Mycroft away. “Actually, would you mind?”  He points toward the front of the plane and his now sleeping wife. 

“ Not at all.” Sherlock said graciously. John pulls the curtain shut with finality. 

 “It was my turn.” John is determined to continue this farce as long as Sherlock needs it.

 “Quite so.” Sherlock replied.

“ So, how do you plan to wake up? You need to wake up.  I will do whatever it takes, just tell me what you need.”

“Oh... I should think like this.” Sherlock reaches up and pulls John down close to his face. “I am going to jump off the Reichenback Falls.”

 “Are you sure? That might kill you.  Long way down.” John asks softly. 

“ Between you and me, John, I always survive the fall.” Sherlock tells him with surety.

 “But how?” John asked, still confused and trying to understand what Sherlock is trying to say. 

Sherlock opens his eyes and whispers, “ Elementary, my dear Watson.” He closes the last inch between them and kisses John. John pulls back for a second, startled and not impressed with Sherlock’s vomit breath.  Then he realizes that it really doesn’t matter and closes his eyes with a sigh and simply falls with his friend.  There is no place he would not fall if Sherlock just asked him. 

 The kiss ends with a huge deep breath and Sherlock groggily asking, “ Miss me? “

Mary is hovering and smiling as she asked, “Sherlock, are you all right?”

“ Yes. Of course I am, why wouldn't I be?” Sherlock looks like a cyborg on reset doing a system analysis.

John has no idea if Mycroft and Mary saw the kiss or what they think it means but John doesn’t care. It brought him back.  His own sleeping beauty.  Like a Fairytale.  “ Because you probably just OD'd. You should be in hospital.”

“ Hmmmm, no time. I have to go to Baker Street. Now. Moriarty's back!”

Mycroft looks ill as he says kindly. “ I almost hope he is, if it'll save you from this.”

“ No need for that now, I've got the real thing. I have work to do.”

“ Sherlock... ..promise me.”

“ What are you still doing here?” Sherlock demands, looking genuinely offended. “ Shouldn't you be off getting me a pardon or something, like a proper big brother?” Sherlock rushes out the door and Mary follows him with a giggle.

 “Dr. Watson... Look after him. Please.” Mycroft asks as he deduces the answer without John having to say a word. 

_I always do. Every time you let me. I know you are hiding a great big mountain of rubbish but just don’t play me again.  I actually sort of like you.  Trust me._

“ Sherlock, hang on, explain. Moriarty's alive, then?”

“ I never said he was alive, I said he was back.”

 “So he's dead?

 “Of course he's dead, he blew his own brains out, no-one survives that. “ Sherlock holds up his hand as john started to speak.  “Oh Please no.  I told you it is never twins.  It is never Twins, John.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for reading. I hope you liked it.


End file.
